


Tales from the Pizzeria

by TtotheCofA



Category: Five Nights at Freddy's
Genre: M/M, Multi, all written for fun, chapters come from submitted prompts and may appear scattered, many many AUs involved, no real timeline involved here, numerous OCs used to pad out the world, tags may apply for future chapters, timeline jumps around a LOT
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-26
Updated: 2017-01-05
Packaged: 2018-08-11 03:10:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 30
Words: 25,822
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7873867
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TtotheCofA/pseuds/TtotheCofA
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of drabbles and one-shots about a night guard, a pizzeria, a handful of robots, and some ghosts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Accidental Kidnapping

**Author's Note:**

> Setting in which the animatronics are not murderous, just.....misguided.

“…..Chica.” Freddy kept his expression as neutral as possible. “Why is the night guard tied to a chair?” The animatronic chicken tapped her fingers together nervously, and shuffled her feet guiltily.

“Because the handbook says you’re not supposed to move people who might have head injuries, and he wouldn’t stop flailing.” She explained. 

“I see.” Freddy nodded shortly, and fully stepped into the Parts & Services room. The door closed behind him, and Mike flinched at even the quiet sound. Freddy’s ears pitched back a few degrees at the sound of frightened hiccuping, muffled by a large strip of duct tape. “And…why is he gagged?” China managed to shrink down a few inches in preemptive shame.

“Because I couldn’t get him to stop screaming and it was hurting Bonnie’s ears.” She admitted. From the back corner of the room, Bonnie offered a helpless shrug. He couldn’t help it if his ears were sensitive, and sound carried in this room. Freddy sighed deeply and pinched the bridge of his nose.

He tried not to notice how the guard flinched again when he moved, and how the creaking of his servos couldn’t quite cover up the horrified whimpering.

“And dare I ask…” The bear made a valiant effort to keep his voice calm and steady. The situation was bad enough, and there was no reason to make it worse. “Why he might have a head injury?”

“Um….” China coughed nervously and looked back at Bonnie.

“W-well, um…” The rabbit didn’t fare much better with his words. “He left the door open, and we thought we’d just pop in and say ‘hi’-…” Bonnie trailed off when Freddy’s stare became a glare, and soon joined Chica in the shameful shuffle.

“He fell out of his chair and smacked his head on the floor, didn’t he.” Freddy guessed. By the hanging of heads and lack of eye contact, his ‘guess’ was right on the money. The bear groaned internally. This was going to set them so far back. Michael had only just started to warm up to them more in the daytime, and they hadn’t even begun to work on the post-closing rumors problem!

“It was just an accident…” Chica muttered as she toed the ground. Beside her, Mike Schmidt gripped the arms of the chair until his knuckles turned white. The rest of him wasn’t too far behind. “And we were just trying to help…” Freddy sighed and shook his head.

“I know you had good intentions…” He began, looking from chicken to rabbit before stepping forward to place a hand on Chica’s shoulder. He heard Mike start to whine as he approached, but did not look down. If the poor man was still terrified they were going to stuff him into a suit (ugh!), then attention was the last thing he’d want. “But this,” He waved a hand down at Mike briefly, and the whine turned into a gasp and a flinch. “Is not the way to do it.”

“We didn’t know what else to do!” Bonnie argued from the back corner, and Mike flinched again at the raised voice. “We couldn’t call an ambulance. Our fingers are too big for the buttons!”

“Ahoy, mateys!” Foxy shouldered open the Parts & Services door with a wide grin, and a hook brandished in a wave. “Did I hear ye managed to catch that night guard?” Freddy cringed visibly, and he heard Michael make a strangled, choked-off sound. The guard suddenly slump forward in the ropes, and went silent. “Eh?” Foxy tilted his head in confusion and scurried up to the night guard to prod him with the blunt side of his hook. “What be the matter with this one?”

“Oh, no!” China shoved Freddy aside and knelt down in front of the chair. “Foxy! You scared him senseless!” The pirate fox sputtered.

“Not on purpose!” He protested. “An’ i’ ain’t my fault!” He huffed as Bonnie stepped up, and joined Chica in gingerly trying to rouse the unconscious guard. “Th’ lad’s jumpier ’n a fish in a net!” In the background, Freddy dragged his hands down his face, and resisted the urge to bang his head on the wall. If they were lucky, and could get him back to the office before he woke up, Michael might come back to work the next night, and pass this disaster off as a terrible nightmare.

And then he was going to sit everyone down and give them a long talk.


	2. Perks of the Job

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A short musing about a lead singer and voices.

Voices had always been Freddy’s thing.

Bonnie could remember names no problem, and Chica never forgot a face, but Freddy always remembered your voice. He could tell the day guard from the night guard without ever looking, and even if the night guard was coming in for the day. Bonnie and Chica were always impressed, but Freddy usually tried to shrug it off.

Pride was not his thing, and he didn’t want it to be.

This talent hadn’t been part of his programming. Not originally; he’d learned to do it all on his own. Ah, if their creator only knew what a masterful step in science his work had taken in his absence…even if it did go under appreciated by the vast majority of the people to witness it. To kids, it was only natural that Freddy could tell them apart by their voice alone. Their parents could do the same thing, so clearly it was a thing that simply was.

Freddy never corrected them. Keeping children happy was part of his job, after all.

But there was one voice Freddy didn’t know. Or, rather….he never heard it enough for it to become familiar. It was a child’s voice….and it wasn’t a child’s voice. The animatronic was loathe to admit that he couldn’t really tell. It always sounded as though it were speaking with a far away echo, and tugged at a memory somewhere deep in his processor….a memory of weeks and months and years spent with a rage that was not his own burning through his limbs.

This was a time Freddy - and all of them, really - tried hard not to talk about. They buried it beneath renewed efforts to create smiles and laughter and happy faces, even when the lights went out and the doors were locked. They tried to pretend it had never happened.

But that voice always picked at that old scar; whispering from the rafters where they could never see its source, and reminding them of their greatest failures. Bonnie drowned it out beneath guitar practice, and Chica banged around in the kitchen. Foxy just never spoke of it, so Freddy never knew if he could hear it, too. Maybe only he could. 

Wouldn’t that be ironic?

The familiar chimes of 6am began to ring through the building, and Freddy looked up in surprise. He’d spent the entire night sitting on the stage, lost in thought, and he stood up without a word when Bonnie and Chica returned to take their places. He heard the familiar muttering of the night guard as he hurried for the door, bag clutched to his shoulder to keep his hands from shaking. Though he couldn’t see the door from the stage, Freddy knew the guard would wait just beyond the entrance until the day shift arrived. He heard them chatting casually every morning. The night guard sounded like a really nice guy.

It’s too bad he never let them in the office. Oh well….

Maybe they’d finally get to meet him tonight?


	3. Hallucinations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A prompt involving Mike and Golden Freddy.

The first time, Mike ignored it completely.

Maybe that poster in the west hall had always been a close-up of a hollow eyed Freddy’s face. He wouldn’t know - it’s not like he memorized all the decor on the walls. The children’s drawings were constantly being taken down and replaced, and the posters (he was told) were rotated on a bi-monthly basis, to keep them seeming ‘fresher’.

It sounded like bullshit to him, but then again, he knew nothing about marketing, so he kept his mouth shut.

There had been no animatronics lurking in the hall, or in the blind spot outside the door when he’d flashed the light, so Mike changed the camera to another room, and forgotten about the strange poster almost immediately.

……….

The second time, Mike heard a whisper in his ear.

‘It’s me…’ A voice whispered clear as day. The guard flinched and spun around in his chair, only to see an empty office behind him. Heart pounding, he’d checked both doors and hallways, but had found no animatronics waiting in the darkness. Mike swallowed past the lump in his throat, and sat back down in his chair. He….he’d just imagined that, yeah. He’d just imagined the voice…

…and the breath he’d sworn he’d felt on the back of his neck….

Clutching the tablet in shaking hands, Mike resumed his morbid duty, and tried not to think about the proof that this job was driving him insane.

……….

The third time, he actually saw it, and it wouldn’t go away.

Mike was sure he was just hallucinating. He hadn’t slept more than six hours in the last week, and no amount of coffee had been able to wake him up. Out of desperation to finish the week, and officially last longer in this hellhole than any job he’d held since high school, Mike had downed two small energy boosts like shots, and once more ignored the shaking in his hands.

He’d done the same thing in college and hallucinated Jesus on a ceiling fan his dorm didn’t have. 

No problem. Just ignore it, and it would go away.

….right?

Mike risked a peek over the edge of the tablet, and his eyes widened. The grimy yellow Freddy was still there, slumped up against his desk as if it had just walked in and collapsed. Its hollow eyes stared at him; its slack jaw gaped at him in a grim smile. His power was down to just 7%, and he only had a few minutes left in his shift. Bonny was to the west, and Chica to the east - both doors were shut, and there was no other way into the office. It had to be a hallucination - too much stress, too much fear. It had to be. It had-

A strange sound broke the silence, and it took Mike a few seconds to recognize it as a sob. His death grip on the tablet was no longer able to keep his hands still, and the guard dropped the screen to his lap and pressed it against his legs. He looked up at phantasm sitting against his desk with no shield to hide behind, and locked his gaze with two tiny, white pinpricks deep within the hollow eyes of the mask. Had those always been there? Fuck, he couldn’t remember.

“Am I gonna die now?” He asked, unsurprised by how hard it was to force the words past the lump in his throat. “Because I really, really don’t want to.” Something salty trickled into his mouth, and Mike realized he was crying. Crying and begging a vivid hallucination not to kill him. So much for dying with dignity.

“Mom’s got no-one to help her out if I’m gone…” He could just see his time ticking down to zero, but he kept talking. The silence of the wait was more terrifying than the predator waiting for its opportune moment. “She, she can’t keep her job without someone to watch the kids, and, and the state pays to house them, but it’s, it’s not enough, you know?” The question was rhetorical, and he didn’t expect an answer. But the mask of the suit seemed to be tilted a little more to the opposite side. Had it moved? He hadn’t seen.

“These kids…they’ve had it bad enough…” Mike could feel his heart pounding through his ribs, and he wouldn’t have been surprised if he’d looked down and seen it beating through his shirt. “Rotten parents, plain bad luck, trauma…they, they deserve more than the bare minimum, you know?” He tried to laugh at his own joke, as some strange, disproportionate reaction to the facing of his own death, and he almost swore the mask was smiling.

“I don’t want to die….” His vision was getting blurry, but he couldn’t tear his eyes away from the suit. “I don’t want to die, please, I don’t want to diiiee…” A bell began to ring through the building, accompanied by the pre-recorded sounds of children cheering, and the ‘snap’ of the power turning back on. Mike glanced away from his impending death for a split second, just in time to see his watch turning to 6:00am. When he looked back up at the office, the hallucination was over.

The golden Freddy was gone.

“…….” The tablet clattered to the floor, and Mike slid out of the chair to land on his knees. From there, he dropped to his hands, and then to the floor, where the cold tiling stung his cheek. He dragged his arms over his head, and started to sob in relief.


	4. Effective Immediately

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written as a challenge response for the amazing Ridkey, here on Ao3.

“….no, no, they didn’t say anything to me. Sorry…” Mike Schmidt frowned as he keyed his way into the Pizzeria for his night shift.

He kept his cell phone tucked against his shoulder as he walked inside, and re-locked the door behind him. It was a dreadful feeling, to knowingly lock yourself in with death in the room, but it was company policy to keep the doors locked after closing…even with the night shift guard on duty.

“I know you’re worried, mom, but Clark and Evelynn are with them, yeah? Then they might have just decided to stay over at a friend’s house.” The young man cast the show stage a wary glance as he began to cross the party hall, but neither Bonnie, nor Freddy, nor Chica moved.

“…..yeah, you’re right, they should’ve called,” Mike sighed into the phone as he headed for the backstage door. Anders had told him just that morning that the tablet had taken a nasty fall during the day shift, and had been sent out for repairs. The older man said it would be waiting for him on the parts table.

And while Mike was utterly loath to step into that room of death and paranoia, he couldn’t complete his shift (and survive) without that tablet.

“But you can lecture them about it in the morning. They’ll all be asleep, by now.” Mike paused outside the backstage door, one hand on the knob but not yet turning it. He sighed, and leaned back on his heels. “Mom, I promise, the kids are okay.” He smiled, even though his mother couldn’t see it across the line. “I guarantee, they’ll be home by morning.

“Now go to bed,” He ordered with a joking tone of authority. “You have an opening shift tomorrow.” He paused to listen, and the young man’s smile softened, and then a red tinge crossed his face, even though there was no-body there to witness the well-wishing. “I love you too, mom…” Mike muttered in reply. “I’ll see you in the morning, okay?” He hung up the phone and opened the backstage door, taking a few steps inside in search of the tablet…

….and his phone clattered to the ground when his fingers seemed to loose all feeling.

“Schmidt…?” The voice sounded muffled to his ears. His manager, Paul, was stepping towards him, one bloody hand outstretched. “Kid…Mike….” He was talking again, but Mike didn’t react. ‘I didn’t know they were yours’…..wh-…why was he lying? Of course he knew - he’d introduced them! God, at the party, just last month!

More words, and rising voices. Breathing was suddenly hard. His stomach was churning, and the floor seemed to be tilting under his feet. Paul slammed his fist into the wall, and Mike jumped, as if startled out of a nightmare. But there was no escaping this horror, no matter how much Mike backed away. He hit the door all too soon, and pressed against it like he could phase through the heavy steel.

Too close, too close, too close! Mike’s panicked breathing rustled the collar of his manager’s bloody shirt, and his heart was beating so fast it hurt. He had to get out. Get away. Get help.

“One of your siblings is a cop, isn’t she?” Mike stopped breathing, and the question hung there in the fragile silence. He didn’t bother answering. He knew Paul knew the answer. The door was right there - he could grab the handle, but not before Paul grabbed him by the shoulder, and pitched him forward. Mike hit the ground face first and skidded into something soft, and still warm. He didn’t want to - god, he didn’t want to - but he opened his eyes, and let out a piteous mewl at the sight of his youngest sister’s bloody corpse.

Get up, get up…! He couldn’t. The blood was too slick, and panic was starting to take over. Every slip was countered with another frantic flail, and Mike only stopped when his hand came down on something wet, squishy, and…hard? A glance down prompted a scream, and he threw himself away from the mangled flesh of his youngest brother. His stomach heaved, and nothing came up, but when he tried to uncurl, his line of sight fell directly onto another figure - another brother - reduced to little more than bloody flesh and bone. 

“Do you believe in God, Mike?” The guard jerked around to face Paul again, slipping in the blood. He was carving a smeared trail through the once-still pools of red, and his stomach heaved again.

“Nononononono….” Mike whimpered. He wasn’t sure if it was an answer or not. Paul had picked up a heavy metal rod from somewhere, and he swung it. It missed by a mile, but Mike flinched anyway, and desperately tried to scramble away. His hand fell against something soft, and he snapped it back against his chest with a whine. Oh god…! Oh, god, Lynn…!

Stars suddenly exploded in his head as Paul kicked him square in the jaw, and Mike fell flat on his back with a wet ‘splurch’ing sound. He choked, spitting blood from a bitten tongue, and struggling to see anything past the dark spots crowding his vision. His jaw felt like it had been cracked right up through his skull, and when something nudged his hip and turned him over, Mike didn’t fight it. Something heavy leaned on his back, and he moaned. Paul was still talking, but Mike wasn’t listening. His head was pounding too much, he couldn’t hear-

P A I N shot up from his ankle, and the night guard screamed. He screamed again, and again, and again. It was all he could do as his attacker methodically worked up and down his lower limbs, breaking every bone he could, and making a damned good effort on those he couldn’t. He wanted to kick and thrash, but he couldn’t. Any movement from the waist down hurt too much.

Mike sobbed as the pressure lifted off of his back. Please, please, no more! He just wanted to go home! Paul’s voice was louder - he stood over Mike’s head, now - and he was talking again. But the words just weren’t registering in Mike’s mind. Shock was fighting with panic and agony for its place of honor, and didn’t back down until pain reasserted itself with the crushing of his hand. 

This time, Mike did try to fight back. But his meager scrabbling only left bloody scratches on Paul’s boots, and his one good arm was easily kicked aside, and pinned down. He screamed again, and continued screaming until his voice was raw and his nerve endings were starting to go numb from sheer overload.

“Come on, you…” Mike rasped out a whimper as Paul’s arms wrapped around his torso, and lifted him up. His arms and legs dragged uselessly across the ground, and Mike dry heaved again. “It’s almost over.” Getting dropped on the table sent a fresh wave of agony up his spine, and Mike managed one last scream. It sounded too loud for the room, and didn’t bounce back the way it should have. Sound proofing….? Fuck, of course.

“It’s gonna be okay, son.” His murderer kissed his forehead, so tenderly, and Mike wanted to scream again. His vocal cords failed him, and his hands twitched with the desire to push this man - this monster - away. “It’s all going to be over soon, and you’re going to be with them, okay? I hope to fucking god…” Paul’s words trailed off into a muffled mess, and Mike narrowed his eyes, struggling to see through a mess of tears and blood.

He saw Paul’s blurry form move away, and Mike desperately tried to look around the room. The sound of shuffling animatronic parts and tools made him sick, but the nausea was little more than a pleasant change of pace, now. There had to be some way out of this. Some way to get help! Some way to…..t-to….

Mike’s thoughts trailed off into a ragged sob as Paul’s shadow returned, carrying a large, dark object that ‘thunked’ heavily when it hit the table. He knew what it was, but the guard still tried to deny it. No. No, no, no! After all he’d survived, he was going to die like this?!

An empty Freddy head was placed down beside his, blocking his view of the waiting suit, and Mike squeezed his eyes shut. His lungs were burning and his head felt too light. Breathing was hard, and it shouldn’t have been. Breathe. Breathe. He didn’t really want to live to see the inevitable end but he didn’t want to die now! He heard muffled clicks and metal snapping. Oh god…he was going to die here. His mother would never know. He’d told her the kids would be home safe, and they’d never-

His hearing seemed to come back in waves, and it returned just in time for Mike to hear himself sob. He felt eyes on him, and heard a soft sigh.

“I hate to see you this way.” Paul said. The words muffled again, and the guard grit his teeth. _[Liar…]_ Mike thought vehemently. _[You filthy, filthy **L I A R**.]_ “…-eally am sorry.”

‘No you’re not!’ Mike wanted to scream. But he’d long ago lost his voice, and the effort of forming words was too much for his tired tongue. Instead, he huffed one of his few breaths out through his teeth in a hiss as he felt hands on him again. Don’t touch me. Don’t touch…! The best he could manage was a twitch of bloody fingers as he was lifted off the table, and turned over onto his stomach. Paul dragged him over the open Freddy suit, and Mike’s momentary bout of anger immediately evaporated.

No, no, no, please! He didn’t want to die! The night guard began to shiver in fear as he was maneuvered into place. He could feel the sharp tips of his nightmares brushing his chest with every sharp, panicked inhale, and he briefly wondered if hyperventilating while having your lungs speared through would kill him any quicker. He could only pray it would.

Paul spoke, one last time, in a tone meant to be soothing. Mike screwed his eyes shut, unable to watch these final moments. He tried to focus on Paul’s voice. Every second he could hear the man talking meant one more second he wasn’t-

_SHNK_.

…..

……….

‘Muted’ was not a word Mike would have expected to use to describe the feeling of being crushed and impaled and shredded all at once. Maybe he’d just lost too much blood for his brain to care about the pain. He could feel his skin separating; feel his lungs suddenly struggle as something foreign speared them right through.

The worst part, by far, was the clarity.

He could have fought back, Mike realized much, much too late. Wasn’t it for something like this that his father had tried to teach him his favored martial art? God, Shaun would have been so disappointed in him…and the kids…! If he’d only taken his mother seriously when she’d first told him - mere hours ago - that they hadn’t come home on time, this could have all been avoided! If he’d listened…god, if he’d only listened….

Something gentle touched his wrist, and it was the last thing Mike Schmidt ever felt. His lungs stopped straining. His chest stopped aching. His limbs felt heavy and cold.

The light left his eyes, and Mike Schmidt breathed his last.

…..

……….

…………..

_Mike opened his eyes_.


	5. Not What He Signed Up For

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This drabble follows the same vein of AU as the previous, and heavily involves a rather unfortunate OC.

If you asked him, Keith Howlett wouldn’t be able to tell you why he took this job.

The restaurant was on the verge of closing down - two more months, and it would have to go under. The disappearance of four more children and another security guard had been a crushing blow, and after all the drama, media coverage, and police investigation, the pizzeria couldn’t recover.

Keith hadn’t known the kids. Not really. He’d seen them around town with the family he’d once had, but they’d come years after he’d left. He felt no real sorrow for their tragic disappearance.

But the guard was another story.

Keith flicked through the different camera views on the tablet, but he wasn’t really looking at them. Nothing had changed on them in the past four hours, anyway. The animatronics that supposedly walked around at night to keep their servos loosened up were still on the stage, as still as they’d been at closing, so the guard let his thoughts wander.

He hadn’t really known his foster brother….they’d only lived together for two years before Keith had been kicked out (his own fault, he knew, though he’d never admit it out loud). But the news that Mike had disappeared had left Keith with a hollow feeling. He may not have known Mike well, but he’d known him well enough to know that the kid wouldn’t have just up and left his family. He just wouldn’t! He was too clingy like that….

Which meant that something sinister was afoot.

But Tara hadn’t appreciated his appearance at the police station, and she’d brushed him off before he could even explain. She was probably still bitter about the way he’d threatened to smash her head in over a petty argument. He couldn’t blame her. Even he thought that was a shitty thing for his teenaged self to do.

Without this ‘in’ to the police, though, Keith had been left with no other choice but to investigate himself. The pay was absolute shit, and after the price of gas just to get there, he was practically doing this guard job for free. But he’d been hired almost on the spot, with just a bare minimum interview and no background check (which was good, because he wouldn’t have passed one), so he’d bit down on the bullet, and showed up on time for once in his life.

So far, though, his investigation was a bust. 

Keith had waited in the office for the first hour, to make sure that management had left, and getting familiarized with the security system so he could wipe it if he had to. Then, he’d taken out a flashlight he’d found in the desk drawer (a part of him thought that it might have been Michael’s, and he’d had to swallow back a strange lump in his throat), and headed to the offices. He’d rifled through every desk, and picked every locked door and cabinet he could find, but he’d been unable to find anything incriminating…

A surprise, given the pizzeria’s history.

Begrudgingly, Keith had put everything back where he’d found it and returned to the security office to finish off his shift. He didn’t want to get caught poking around the backstage rooms by the day shift, so he’d have to wait until tomorrow night to keep looking. The man shook himself out of his thoughts and looked down at the tablet, flipping through the camera views once more.

“…? What?” Keith sat up suddenly and stared at the show stage view. “Weren’t there three of you? Where’d the bear go?” The man cursed out loud and started flipping through the cameras again. Shit, did these things actually move around?! What the fuck! “Where’d you go you stupid piece of junk…” Keith growled as he cycled through the cameras again.

“Keeeeiiiiittthhhh…..”

“……” A chill ran up Keith’s spine, and stopped his heart along the way. He knew that voice drifting down the hall, though it was raspy and weak, as if it hadn’t been used in a long time. A cold sweat broke out on his forehead, and Keith slowly turned to look at the doors. The hallways beyond seemed empty, but he hadn’t been hallucinating. He knew he hadn’t.

“Mikey…?” Keith called out before holding his breath. He was given no response, and the guard slowly stood up, clutching the tablet in one hand, and grabbing the flashlight in the other. He stepped out into the hallway, and shone the flashlight across the floor. “Mike…?” Keith called out again. Something moved at the end of the hall, and Keith’s heart leapt into his throat. “Mike!” The guard took off down the hallway, chasing the figure out into the party room. There, he stopped, and swept the light around the room. Finding nothing, Keith hissed out a frustrated breath through his teeth.

“Mikey, it’s me! It’s Keith!” He shouted, listening to the way his voice was swallowed up by the thick walls, and hoping he would hear something echo back. Something shuffled across the room, towards the show stage, and Keith’s flashlight beam only just caught a flash of movement going into a room off to the side. Dropping the tablet on the nearest table, Keith took off down the length of the party room, and rushed straight to the door.

He didn’t notice the way the animatronics turned to watch him go, nor did he see the seemingly sorrowful look they traded before resuming their static positions.

“Mikey…!” Keith burst through the door, and found himself in the Parts & Services room. The flashlight reflected off dull glass eyes and empty mascot heads, but he couldn’t see enough, so the man began to grope along the wall for a light switch. His hand touched something cold, and it snapped around his arm hard enough to snap the bone. Keith’s cry of agony was cut short by a large hand clamping over his mouth, and something slammed him to the concrete floor with crushing force.

The last thing Keith saw was a pair of blue glass eyes, and a wide, gaping smile.

……….

The day shift guard needed a few minutes to recompose themselves the next morning, after nearly tripping over the corpse. Management shrugged off the loss, claiming that a man with Keith’s record made the world a better place of this absence, and swept everything under the rug, as they always had. The janitors simply scrubbed every last drop of blood they could reach from Freddy’s hands, and counted down another day until the pizzeria’s closure.

The manager’s gaze lingered tellingly upon the animatronics that morning, but then he locked himself in his office, and wasn’t seen for the rest of the day.


	6. A Bad Day to Switch to Decaf

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow. He really does need it to function...
> 
> Part one.

Mike Schmidt would have killed a man for his coffee.

But his mother was another story.

She’d looked at him with such concern that morning that Mike had actually stopped before taking his first sip, and lowered the cup.

Taking this as an invitation, his mother had told him that she was worried about his health - he drank so much of that coffee (so strong that not even his sister Tara - who, similarly, lived almost purely off of caffeine - would touch it) and she’d seen some show late last night about the dangers of caffeine overdose.

Wouldn’t he try decaf for just one day? Just for her?

Mike had looked down longingly at his filled mug, and put it down on the counter. ‘Sure, mom’ He’d agreed. ‘I’ll try decaf for one day’.

But so far, it had been the worst day of his life.

He hadn’t felt this exhausted since his freshmen year of college, when there hadn’t been enough hours in the day to do even half the things he’d committed to. Despite the dragging exhaustion, he hadn’t been able to sleep, and had actually left for work early, if only to break the monotony of sitting around the house trying not to think about the coffee in the cabinet just down the hall. But already, Mike had nearly walked into two street poles and a mailbox just walking to work, and it had taken him ten minutes to figure out which key actually opened the pizzeria door.

The kicker? There were only two keys on the keyring.

“Why aren’t these labeled…?” Mike growled under his breath as he fumbled the last key into the keyhole, and twisted it vindictively. Before opening the door, though. the night guard rested his hand on the frame, and dropped his head against the glass. “Ugh…sorry, mom,” Mike rubbed a hand over his eyes, nearly scratching himself with the keys. “But my first stop is that coffee machine in the break-“

_**C R A C K !** _

Something solid and heavy impacted the back of his head, smashing Mike against the glass of the front door. He heard something shatter, and felt something wet drip down the back of his neck, but he couldn’t react. He could only slump down as his legs gave out on him, falling through the unlocked door as something pushed it open.

Mike’s eyes rolled back in his head before he could even register the boots stepping in front of his vision, and he lost consciousness.

……….

………………..

_You said nobody would be here until midnight!”_ A voice seemed to be shouting. Mike wondered who they were.

_“I ‘said’ a lot of things. Can’t a guy be wrong?”_ The second voice argued. Mike heard a dull thud, like smacking fabric, and felt a sliver of concern. Were people fighting? Someone should stop them - this was a child friendly place.

_“Not about this, stupid!”_ The first voice snapped back. Something stomped around near his head, as if pacing. _“I’m down for robbery, but not murder!”_

_“Geez, calm down! He’s not even dead, see?”_ Something heavy pressed down on Mike’s throat, and the guard made a gurgling sound. He tried to move to push it away, but all he could manage was a twitch of his fingers. Why did his limbs feel so heavy?

_“Okay, fine, so you didn’t kill him.”_ The first voice spat. _“But we can’t just leave him, either. What if he saw you sneaking up before you clubbed him, man? He’ll snitch!”_

_“Well….”_ The second voice trailed off with what was presumably a shrug, and something solid nudged Mike’s chest. He wondered why he couldn’t feel it. _“You’ve heard the stories about this place, right?”_

_“…….”_ The second voice made a sound of disgust. _“You’ve got to be kidding me. Bro, those are just ghost stories!”_ Mike wanted to laugh. Ooooh no, they weren’t…

_“Well, then maybe we’re the ghosts tonight.”_ The second voice argued, and something grabbed Mike by the ankle. The something started to drag him across the floor. _“We can even make it look like an accident. No-one’ll ever know.”_

_“This isn’t right, man…”_ The first voice muttered, but their footsteps only followed their companion as they dragged the semi-conscious guard. _“That’s gonna kill him.”_

_“He’s gonna die anyway.”_ A door opened, and the hands let go of Mike’s ankle to grab at his shoulders, and carry him over the threshold. _“Least this way, it’ll be harder for the police to track him back to us….”_ Mike’s hearing began to fade out again, and he stopped paying attention to the voices. He felt too tired, and the conversation didn’t seem to matter, anyway. 

Just as he was losing consciousness again, Mike felt someone lift him up, and then drop him again. He suddenly felt very restricted, and couldn’t breathe…but he wasn’t able to hold on to his focus, and fell unconscious a few seconds later.

……….

………………..

Mike Schmidt had been stabbed once before.

It had taught him the hard way why he shouldn’t argue with an armed man who was much too determined to steal a rusty, second hand bicycle in a city where everything important was within walking distance.

It had hurt quite a bit, but not enough to keep him from limping to the hospital and getting stitched up. The thing stabbing into his shoulder, however, hurt quite a bit more.

Something moved him, and the pain in his shoulder spiked. Mike whimpered, and suddenly realized his lungs were empty. Something warm touched the side of his face, covering most of it, and a voice shouted at him. But he couldn’t understand them. Everything sounded muted, and distant…as if it were happening at the end of a long tunnel. It didn’t matter as much as his empty lungs, so Mike didn’t bother trying to respond, and instead tried to fill his lungs.

Pain exploded through his chest, and the poor guard exhaled a cry of agony. The warm thing - a hand - stroked his cheek. The voice shouted again, and it sounded familiar. His name, maybe? Ooh, he couldn’t focus…the pain was more prevalent, as it was coming back with every sobbing breath, and only seemed to get worse with each passing second.

“…-ike! Come-…-id, stay with-…!” Someone sat him up, and leaned him against something decidedly softer than the cold, concrete floor. His head was pounding, and his neck felt wet and sticky, but Mike could only grit his teeth and cringe. His limbs sill felt so heavy. He still could only twitch his fingers. He didn’t remember…wh-….where was he, again? Didn’t he have work tonight?

Oh, this was going to make him late, wasn’t it?

Mike wasn’t sure when he was laid back down again, nor how he was suddenly back outside. But the air out here was much fresher, and didn’t smell so coppery, and there were red and blue lights flashing all over. More voices were shouting, and something was clinging to his hand. Mike thought he should return the grip. Whatever it was seemed upset….too bad he couldn’t even twitch his fingers any more.

Something slammed nearby, and lights and sounds around him were muffled to near silence. Something was placed over his nose and mouth, and something bright was shined in his eyes, but Mike could barely find it in himself to care. Couldn’t he just go to sleep, now? He finally felt ready to s l e e p…..

……….

………………..

Something was beeping, and it was driving Mike crazy.

He cracked open his eyes, squinting at the dull gray ceiling of the dark, unfamiliar room for what felt like an hour, but was probably only a couple seconds. A tilt of the head - which was harder to do than it should have been - brought a bevy of hospital machinery into view, including an IV drip, and the heart rate monitor that was making the oh-so-annoying sound. Mike turned his head back to look up at the ceiling, and furrowed his brow in confusion.

Why was he in the hospital?

He didn’t feel any pain, but he also couldn’t feel much of anything anymore. Geez, no wonder he felt numb - whatever was in that IV must’ve been good and strong! Did his insurance cover this? He was pretty sure it didn’t. What was the copay gonna be for this?

Something shifted to his right, and Mike became aware of a weight on his arm. Turn his his head that direction (once again, a harder task than it should have been), he finally noticed the familiar face sitting in the chair beside his hospital bed. The young man blinked slowly, and spent several minutes collecting his thoughts and coordinating his tongue enough to say,

“Paul…? Wha’ ‘appened…? Did I run ou’ ‘f power?” Mike fell silent with a wince as his head began to pound. God, what had happened last night? He couldn’t even remember getting in the door….Before he could try collecting his thoughts again, however, he felt Paul squeeze his arm, and then the man leaned in to press his forehead against the young guard’s. Focusing on Paul at this close a distance was just too hard, so Mike didn’t bother, and closed his eyes instead.

“Don’t talk now, kid…” He heard Paul mutter. His hearing was still dull and muted, but at least he could hear all the words, this time. “Just….just rest. You survived.” Wh-…what? “You survived, and that’s all that matters.” Mike felt Paul lean back, but his eyelids felt too heavy to lift again. Oh….well, everything must be alright now, right? Paul was here, he was in a hospital, and he wasn’t dead, so that was good…

‘Just rest’, Paul said. Yeah…that sounded like a good idea.

Mike exhaled one more time, and let his focus give out. The last thing he felt was Paul’s hand on his arm before the medication take over, and lull him off to sleep once more.


	7. Three Steps Back

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another perspective of the terrible night....

Midnight came, and the pizzeria was silent.

Foxy waited patiently to hear the familiar creaking of the front door, but it never came. He waited patiently to hear the footsteps of the jittery night guard….but they never came. Behind his curtain, the animatronic drummed his claws against the hull of his ship. What was taking this kid so long? He was usually fifteen minutes early.

Just in time for the animatronics to wake up from their own post-closing, pre-midnight nap.

Impatient, Foxy poked his head out through the curtain of Pirate’s Cove to glare at the security camera that watched it. The light remained dark, and the fox growled. He turned to look towards the stage, and the other three standing there, but only received a shrug from Chica. The show stage camera hadn’t turned on yet, either. Maybe Mike had switched up his pattern, and started checking the other rooms, first?

Something about this didn’t sit right, with Foxy, and he made that clear with a jerk of his head. Someone make a run at the kid. Wake him up. Freddy, however, shook his head. No. They were trying to make amends with their night guard, not frighten him into a heart attack early on in his shift. It was already difficult enough to catch glimpses of him as they whittled away the six hours left until opening - breaking from their perceived pattern would only make things worse.

One step forward, two steps back, as the saying went.

Foxy bared his teeth in a growl, but retreated back behind the curtain. Fine, fine…he’d leave the jittery lad alone. But he’d hardly been in hiding ten minutes before he poked his head back out again, visibly concerned. He still couldn’t settle the unnatural feeling deep within his core that something was terribly wrong.

Up on the stage, the others seemed to be feeling it, too. Bonnie had out his guitar, but couldn’t seem to bring himself to strum it. Freddy was fiddling with the stand of his microphone, pulling it up and down, adjusting the clip and rewrapping the cord. Chica was simply pacing back and forth, tapping her fingers against her beak in a mimicry of biting fingernails she did not have. Foxy flattened his ears, and left his cove.

“Somethin’ ain’t right, mateys…” The pirate stated as he came to the foot of the stage. “The lad hasn’t checked me cove once since midnight, an’ I’m bettin’ he ain’t checked yer stage, either.”

“….no, he hasn’t.” Freddy admitted, letting the microphone cord drop from his hands. “This isn’t like Michael. He’s afraid of us, yes, but he’s never shirked his duties before.”

“One of us should go check on him.” Chica spoke up, stopping her pacing near Bonnie. “Freddy, what if something’s happened to him?” The chicken worried. The bear tipped his ears back, and rubbed the top of his nose.

“You’re right, I know.” Freddy sighed. “Alright. Bonnie,” The rabbit hurriedly set aside his guitar. “Go down the hall and check on Michael.” Freddy ordered. “Don’t bother with the supply closet this time, just go straight to the office.”

“Got it!” Bonnie sprang to his feet and hopped off the stage, practically jogging in and around the tables of the party hall. However, about halfway there, he suddenly stopped, and went stiff as a board. The remaining three watched in confusion as their friend slowly turned to look down, and lifted his foot back up.

“Um….Fr-….Freddy…!” Bonnie’s voice cracked, and the bear’s ears fell. “Th-there’s bl-bl-blood on the floor!” Chica made a strangled gasping sound of horror, and Foxy bolted forward, knocking several folding chairs out of his way in his haste.

“Let me see, lad, let me see!” Foxy nudged Bonnie out of his way and crouched down to the floor, lightly touching his hook to the dark stain of liquid soaking into the carpet. “….aye.” The fox confirmed grudgingly. “This be blood.” He straightened up, and looked back. Freddy and Chica had come down off the stage, and were hurrying to join them. “It looks like someone got cleaved t’the brisket, here…”

“I don’t know what that means…” Bonnie muttered sadly. Freddy raised a hand to his mouth.

“Oh my-…” The animatronic shook his head. “This must have happened before we woke up - Michael must have gotten hear earlier than usual.” He looked around at the other three. His expression took on an aura of authority, and the bear squared his shoulders. “Split up, and search this place. Now.” He ordered. “Office, backstage, basement, and kitchen. We need to find Michael.”

Without another word, the other animatronics nodded, and split up. Chica ran towards the kitchen, Bonnie backstage, Foxy towards the security office, and Freddy headed for the Parts and Services room. He wasn’t expecting to find Michael - not in here. Instead, there was someone he needed to speak to….

“Goldie…” Freddy pushed open the door and turned, easing it shut behind him. He didn’t want the noise to cause any more alarm amongst the others. “We think something may have happened to the night guard, Michael. Bonnie found blood in the party-“ Freddy turned to face the golden suit, and stopped dead. “…room.” He finished lamely. 

Goldie looked up at the band leader from where he sat slumped against the wall, the white pupils of his spectral eyes small and frightened. He had been moved from his usual corner, and there was fresh blood dripping from the seam of his jaw. There was a distinctly stiffer posture to his body.

_“Hee’s still breeeaaaathing.”_ Goldie rasped softly. Freddy felt sick. Oh no. No, no, no, no, no! _“Hee’s still bleeeeeding.”_ Goldie’s whispery voice became pleading, and one of his arms twitched. Slowly, it lifted off the ground, and limply dropped against his chest. The sound was not as hollow as it should have been. _“Hee’s still aliiiiiive.”_

“Ev-….” Freddy’s voice stuck in his throat. “E-everyone…..EVERYONE.” Goldie winced at the noise, but only a minute later, the door banged open behind Freddy, and Bonnie came rushing in with Chica and Foxy close on his heels.

“What? What is it?” The rabbit asked. “Freddy, did you find Mike?” Wordlessly, the bear pointed down at Goldie. Foxy’s eyepatch popped up in abject horror, and Chica covered her beak, but Bonnie only narrowed his eyes. “What….Goldie? Does Goldie know where Mike is?” Chica grabbed Bonnie’s jaw, and twisted his head to look directly at the blood trickling out of Goldie’s mask. The rabbit’s ears fell as the realization dawned on him. “O-oh, god…”

“Get him open.” Freddy’s own voice startled him out of his stupor. “Goldie says he’s still alive in there. Get that suit open!” The animatronics all crowded around the suit on the floor, scratching at the latches and seams with stubbed fingers and a tentative hook. Chica let out a frustrated whine.

“Freddy, we can’t handle the latches!” She complained. 

“Then…then we need to call someone.” Freddy’s mind raced. “911, an ambulance-“

“Our fingers are too big for the phone buttons!” Bonnie protested. “We can’t call out from the security office!”

“Then we use the manager’s phone!” The band leader growled. All but Foxy flinched back. “The manager is on speed dial #1, right at the top of the pad. I’ll call, and leave a message-“ Now even Foxy looked at him skeptically, but Freddy was already turning and throwing open the door. “Noise, voices. Something creepy and suspicious. He’ll come down, and he’ll find Mike - he’ll call the ambulance!” In the doorway, the bear stopped, and looked back.

“Bonnie, Foxy, get back to the stage and cove.” He ordered. “Chica, stay here with Goldie.” Oh, god, he never thought he’d have to say this to her. He hoped he’d never have to say it again. “Make sure Mike is still alive in there.” Foxy opened his jaws to snarl a protest, but Bonnie jabbed him hard in the torso. Foxy closed his mouth, and silently followed the rabbit out of the room. In their absence, Chica huddled by Goldie’s side, and placed a hesitant hand over his torso.

“Goldie, I don’t know if Mike can hear me…” She whispered. Goldie’s white pupils flickered up to meet Chica’s. “But you can do that telepathy thing, so…so can you tell him help is coming?” She asked hopefully.

_“…….”_ Goldie ‘closed’ his eyes. _“Heeeee will know help is coming.”_ The spirit assured her. It was the least he could do.

……….

………………..

“….he’s here.” Freddy resumed his usual position on the stage as a pair of headlights swung wildly into the parking lot outside the pizzeria. “Everyone, stay quiet.” Bonnie and Chica obediently froze, and Foxy quickly withdrew into his cove. Mere moments later, the front door was shoved open, and Paul, the manager, rushed inside. He spared a wary (hateful) glare towards the stage and cove, but did not stop moving, and made straight for the parts and services room. Foxy strained his ears behind his curtain, and just barely heard yelling - frantic, horrified, yelling - and then silence.

……….

Sirens began to wail outside. Blue and red lights filtered in underneath the curtain, and door was thrown open once again to permit the pounding of footsteps and wheels. Through a crack in the fabric, Foxy watched as strangers in blue uniforms wheeled a bed bearing a bloody figure across the party room. Paul was jogging at its side, still muttering assurances to the figure that, at this distance, were wordless to Foxy’s ears. 

The door closed, and the pizzeria fell silent. The lights slowly drove away, and the sirens faded with them. Foxy sat down on a barrel in his cove - once a prop for telling stories to eager children - and lowered his head into his hand and hook.

He heard those onstage begin to whisper, concerned and scared and confused, but he made no move to join them.

He didn’t want to leave his cove, tonight.


	8. What You Deserve

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Golden Freddy takes justice into his own paws.

In a small apartment downtown, a single light flickered against the shroud of night. 

Two men sat around a battered table, crumpled piles of cash, rubber bands, and torn bank bands laid out before them. An old TV set prattled on in the background, playing some local news station. A story came on about a robbery at a children’s pizza place, and one of the men stopped counting bills to watch.

_“….-ecurity guard was found in critical condition, and rushed to the hospital.”_ The reporter stated. _“Management declined to comment on the nature of the employee’s wounds, but did state that the office safe had already been emptied. Police suspect the guard was attacked outside, and dragged into the building, where his body was hidden inside the empty suit of an animatronic. Despite his injuries, he is expected to make a full recovery.”_

“See?” The second man waved a hand in the vague direction of the TV set. “The kid ain’t dead, and they got no leads. Quit moping.”

“…yeah, sure.” The first man picked up the remove and used it to turn off the TV, before tossing it on the couch and going back to counting bills.

Neither man seemed to notice when the lights above them flickered. Perhaps they passed it off as a result of cheap bulbs and age, and just ignored it. A cold chill began to seep into the room, clinging to the carpet like an invisible fog. The first man shivered, but simply shifted, and pulled his feet up onto the couch with him. A ripple of light passed across the screen of the TV, and the screen suddenly sprung to life with a crackle of static. Both men froze, and turned to look at it.

“I thought you turned that off.” The second man growled. The first gulped.

“I…I did.” He pointed down at the remote, a full couch cushion away, and out of his reach. The TV whined, like a radio caught between channels, and the lights in the room suddenly died.

_“It’s yooouu…”_ A raspy, mechanical voice whispered. The first man paled a few shades and began to shake, but the second only growled. 

“The hell kind of channel is this?” He grumbled. “I thought the sci-fi channel cost extra?”

_“Yooouu huuurrt hiiimmm…”_ The static grew thicker, and face began to flicker within it; dark eyes and musty yellow fur. _“Yoooouu muuust be puniiiisssshhhhed…”_ The first man let out a small scream and flailed, falling over the back of the couch. The second leaned back in his chair, eyes wide.

“The fuck is that?!” He shouted. The raspy voice started to laugh, and the first man began to wail and stutter.

“Th-tha-that’s the th-thing!” He pointed accusingly at the TV with a hand that shook noticeably. “The, the thing - the suit! - we put the guard in!” The laughter grew louder, and louder, and L O U D E R, filling the room and drowning out even the static that heralded it. A pair of bright white pupils lit up within the dark pits of the eyes of the mask on the screen, and suddenly, it was no longer there.

It was inside the room instead.

The laughter stopped, and the room fell into a dark, heavy silence. The suit sat slumped in front the TV set, backlit by the screen that was now only static. The whites of its hollow eyes stared down the two men before it, both frozen in fear and horror, and the stiff jaws of its mask almost seemed to be….smiling.

_“Yooouu dessseerrve thisss…”_ The voice whispered, and Golden Freddy lunged.

……….

………………..

“Goldie?” The suit’s eyes lit up, and it stiffly raised its head to look up at Chica. “Are you okay?” The chicken asked worriedly. “Freddy says you’ve been moping for a while…” Her tone turned sad, mimicking the frown her beak could not. “Are you worried about Mike?” She asked quietly. “Did you hear? Bonnie heard the day guard talking. Mike’s going to be okay.”

_“I knoooww…”_ Goldie’s jaws turned in a slight smile. v“Aaaall is okaaay, now.” The spirit turned a devious little smile in unto itself. _“I proooomissse…..”_


	9. Private Tutoring

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A nice moment with Mike and his brother. 
> 
> ....and math.
> 
> This chapter features OCs.

“Too legit to quit, legit legit legit!”

“Do you even know what ‘legit’ means?” Mike raised an eyebrow at the little boy bouncing up and down on the bed, causing the long ears of his purple Bonnie hoodie to flop up and down dramatically. “Bugs” Calloway slowly stopped jumping, and flopped down to sit on the edge of the mattress. 

“….no.” He admitted at length. Mike leaned against the bed beside his brother’s legs, and shifted the notebook on his lap. “But Luis says it a lot.”

“Luis says a lot of things. Most of which you shouldn’t be repeating.” Mike gave his sibling a pointed look, and tapped the eraser of his pencil against the notebook he had propped up on his knees. “Now let’s focus. Mom’s not going to let me take you to Freddy’s tonight unless we get this homework done.” Bugs threw up his arms dramatically and flopped back on the bed. 

“But I don’t like math homework!” The seven year old whined. “It’s too hard, and my teacher never checks it!” Mike sighed and stuck the pencil through the spiral binding of the notebook. He could sympathize - math was hard, and only got harder if you pursued it. But he couldn’t say that out loud, so he pointed to the notebook instead.

“No homework, no Freddy’s.” Mike laid down the ultimatum. Bugs groaned in frustration and rolled over, flopping his head (and the ears of his hoodie) over the edge of the mattress dramatically. Mike pointedly held the notebook under the boy’s nose, prompting another groan, and a half-hearted smack to the shoulder.

“Fiiiiiine….” Bugs crossed his arms and rested his chin on them, glaring dully at his brother from beneath the hood of his sweatshirt. “Ugh…I hate multiplication…” The boy muttered under his breath. “Where were we again?”

“Problem #7, 718 divided by 4.” Mike scooted over a little and leaned the notebook on his knee so Bugs could still see it. “It’s not as intimidating as it looks if you break it down number by number, so let’s start there. How many times does four fit into seven?”

“Uh…” Bugs hesitated. “One?”

“Correct.” Mike nodded. “So we put a one right here, above the seven. Then, we still have three left over, so we keep the three, and bring down the one and the eight. Four can’t fit into three, but it can fit into thirty-one, so we put a seven up here….” Mike scribbled the numbers on the page so his brother could watch how the problem progressed.

“We have another three left over, so we keep that, and move that eight down again, so we have thirty-eight at the bottom. Four still can’t fit into three, so we have to fit it into the thirty eight.“ Mike looked over at Bugs. “We still can’t do that evenly, but we can get close. Four times nine is thirty-six, so we put the nine up here, and since we’re at the end of the number, we put a decimal down right here,” He dotted two quick punctuations on the page. “And add a ‘0’ behind the decimal inside the division sign. Then, we bring the zero down and combine it with the two, which makes our new number ‘twenty’-“

“Oh! I know this!” Bugs broke in excitedly. “Four fits into twenty five times!” 

“Right!” Mike grinned. “And that means we don’t have any numbers left over on the bottom, so we put that five up on top of the line, behind the decimal, and that makes our answer 179.5. See?” He held up the notebook. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

“Says the future roboticist…” Bugs grumbled, stubbornly retreating back into his shell.

“You only know that word because of Mega Man.” Mike accused with a smile and no malice. “Now come on, we’ve only got three problems left…”


	10. Foxy's Hidden Talent

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pirate's Cove was looking a little too weathered for Foxy's tastes...

The waves of his cove had been peeling for years.

So when the restaurant underwent a new round of renovations, and corner-cutting painters left their supplies out on the floor of the party hall overnight, Foxy took it upon himself to borrow a few buckets.

It was a long weekend, and the painters wouldn’t be back for at least three days. It’s not like anyone would remember how much paint was supposed to be left, right?

Foxy stepped back to admire his handiwork, and cocked his head to the side. Hmm. Those whitecaps could be bigger…but then again, he didn’t want to go scarin’ the kiddies with a too-convincing mural o’ the stormy seas. They were probably fine the way they were.

The animatronic carefully set down the half-empty paint bucket on the floor, and disentangled his hook from the handle before dropping the paintbrush inside. He’d used up all the blue painting the water, so the sky would have to stay the same sunset orange that was leftover from the restaurant’s opening. But he still had some yellow left, so he maybe he could paint a sun for that sunset in one of the corners? Yes, that’d tie the room together nicely!

“Hey, Foxyyy!” A familiar voice drifted through the curtains of Pirate’s Cove. “Bonnie and I were going to set up a surprise for Mr. Schmidt in his office for when he comes back,” Chica the chicken threw the curtains open wide with a flourish. “And we wanted to know if you-…huh?” She stopped in mid-sentence, and looked around the old cove. 

“Heh, what d’ya think, lass?” Foxy turned to face her with a toothy grin. “The landlubbers fixin’ this place up left sum stuff be’ind, so I helped meself.” The pirate fox spread out his arms to gesture to the freshly painted walls around him. “What d’ye think?”

“Ooooh, Foxy! It’s amazing!” Chica gasped with stars in her eyes. “I didn’t know you were a painter!”

“Arr…” Foxy preened just the slightest bit, and polished his hook on his furry chest. It left behind a bit of paint, but he could always wash that out in the bathrooms. “Why thank ‘e, lass. It’s good t’know this ol’ pirate ain’t lost ‘is creative touch.” He chuckled. “I thought this place was feelin’ a little musty, so I gave it a bit o’touchin’ up.”

“Well, I think it looks fan-tastic!” Chica scrambled up onto the stage and hurried over to her friend, careful not to step in any spots of wet paint, or accidentally kick over the empty cans stacked haphazardly to one side. “You should paint something for Mr. Schmidt! We can leave it in his office with our surprise for when he comes back!”

“Aye, ye really think he’d like that?” Foxy’s ears pricked up at this high praise. Chica nodded eagerly. “Well….I s’ppose I could try me ‘and at somethin’ smaller.” He scratched at his chin with his hook. “Aye, aye…” Foxy nodded. “I could stretch those ol’ curtains ‘cross me ship fer a canvas.”

“Great!” Chica clapped her hands. “I’ll go tell Bonnie you’re in!” She hopped off the stage with a ‘thud’ and ran across the party room, while Foxy ducked into the open hole in the hull of his ship, and began to dig around. Now, where had he put those old curtains….?


	11. Good Morning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part of the AU written with Ridkey.

When Mike woke up, he felt more refreshed than he had in months.

The young man stirred, and stretched languidly, his limbs gliding over the smooth fabric of soft sheets. Honestly, said sheets felt too soft to be his own, but why look a gift horse in the mouth? He’d probably been too tired to make it to his own room after the previous night, and collapsed in the guest room or something. It wouldn’t have been the first time.

With his muscles stretched, Mike snuggled back up to the heat source beside him. He was loathe to leave it so soon. The rest of the bed was too cold without it, and that heartbeat was so soothing. Ba-bump. Ba-bump. Ba-bump.

….wait. Heartbeat?

Mike cracked his eyes open, and drowsily propped himself on one arm to see just who he was cuddled up to. It took him several seconds (and a few blinks) to recognize the well-built man sharing the bed, but once it sank in, Mike’s eyes widened. Oh.

OH.

OOOOH!!!

A wide smile broke out across the young man’s face before he could stop it, and he buried his face back into that well-toned shoulder. Oh, wow. Oh, WOW! He’d just spent the night with Paul! ‘I-see-you-for-what-you-are’, ‘kiss-until-you-can’t-breathe’ Paul.

He wasn’t dreaming, right? Maybe if he pinched himsel-OW!

Nope. Definitely not a dream.

“Oh my god….” Mike whispered excitedly as he sank back down to the mattress. He’d had dreams about this, but he hadn’t figured they’d come true! Carefully, the man extended one arm across Paul’s torso, and when the other didn’t stir, Mike’s grin widened. He had to cover his mouth with his other hand to restrain an excited giggle. Holy shit! He’d just slept with his boss!

…..he’d….just _slept_ with his _boss_.

…oh.

Mike’s giddiness faded as another thought occurred to him, and suddenly he wasn’t so smug. Oh, god.

If his mother found out about this, she would _kill_ him.


	12. A Fredbear Friend Followed Me Home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by a Magic Anon in which poor Mike is followed by the FNAF 4 Fredbear plush for an indefinite length of time.

Mike had never left the Pizzeria so fast.

He’d barely even stopped to acknowledge Anders, coming in for the day shift. He’d have to apologize for that later. He knew that probably hurt the poor guy’s feelings.

But Mike just put his head down and walked away as fast as he could, determined to leave behind the absolute bullshit he’d witnessed last night. Shady management and safety practices in the workplace? He could handle that. Murderous robots? He could handle that, too. Possessed, omnipotent teddy bears?

No.

Nope.

Nuh-uh.

_That_ was where he drew the line.

Mike practically jogged up the front porch steps of his mother’s home and shouldered open the door, inwardly glad that, for once, he had not been locked out accidentally. It would have only taken him a few minutes to pick his way back inside, but he just wasn’t in the mood to break into his own home today. Once inside, the young man sighed, and dropped his bag to the floor.

“Mom, I’m home!” Mike called out as he loosened his tie, kicking off his shoes by the door and heading straight for the kitchen. Normally, he’d just go straight up to bed after a night like that. But the smell of bacon was drifting down the hall, which meant that someone else was awake in the house. Neither Lynn nor Clark had any interest in cooking, Bugs was too short to reach the stove, and Sasha burned pasta. That left only one other person.

“Oh, Michael!” Jodie Schmidt turned away from the stovetop and crossed the kitchen, wrapping her son in a tight hug. Mike returned the gesture with enthusiasm and a smile, burrowing his mother’s face into her soft, navy blue robe. He didn’t usually get morning hugs like this during the week - Jodie’s own job started around 9am, so she usually didn’t rise any earlier than 7:30am. By the time she woke up, Mike would have already crawled into bed upstairs, and he’d be out until at least noon.

“You’re just in time.” Jodie pulled back from the hug and ruffled her son’s hair. Mike made an overly dramatic show of fixing it. “You’re the first one down, so you’ll get the first pick of the bacon.” The young man’s expression lit up.

“Yes!” Mike cheered, throwing his arms in the air. “No crunchy pan bits this time!” Jodie laughed and took up the loose ends of her son’s tie, pulling it free of his collar and dropping it on the nearest countertop.

“I’m almost finished.” She promised, turning back to the stove. “Pick a chair and get off your feet. I’m sure you’ve had a long night.” The woman chuckled. Mike’s smile became a tad bit forced, but he didn’t say anything. His mother would never believe him if he told her what really went on when the pizzeria closed its doors…

The young man moved to claim his usual chair, and slid into it with a relieved sigh. But when he looked up again, his heart skipped a beat.

There, sitting on the table opposite his usual chair, was the yellow Freddy plush.

The same plush that he had left behind in the security office of Freddy Fazbear’s Pizza.

Over a mile away.

…….

“…” Jodie paused at the sound of a soft ‘thump’, and furrowed her eyebrows. “Michael?” The woman turned around, and promptly dropped her spatula with a gasp. “Michael!” Jodie hurriedly turned off the stovetop flame and scrambled around the counter, to where her son lay slumped on the floor. The innocuous Fredbear plush watched silently as the worried mother tried to rouse her unconscious son.

**“I’m sorry…”** Jodie looked up and around the kitchen, thinking one of her other children had come down for breakfast early. But she saw no-one, so she quickly dismissed the voice, and focused back on Michael.

In the confusion, the Fredbear plush disappeared from the kitchen table, and was not seen for the rest of the day.


	13. Too Close a Call

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A request for Ridkey, using their OC, Paul the Purple Man. ~~Totally not a ship fic no sir whatever gave you that idea?~~

Four months he’d survived.

Four months in this animatronic hell, staring gruesome death in the face and coming back for more because he was a stubborn moron. Four months of nightmares, no sleep, and so much caffeine it made his veins buzz. 

Four long, grueling months of facing his own mortality, and wondering what his family would do if he just never came home one night….

And tonight, Mike Schmidt was going to die.

……….

It had been the sound of breaking glass that had drawn him out of his sanctuary. Distant and soft, it had still cut through the silence like a gunshot, and Mike had flinched. He’d hurriedly checked the doors, and the cameras, but none of the animatronics had moved. They were still on the stage, as they had been all night, almost taunting the guard with their sudden inactivity.

He hadn’t wanted to investigate the noise. Leaving the office meant death, and Mike wasn’t ready to die. But he was the security guard, and he had a job to do outside of dodging homicidal animatronics. He couldn’t afford to get fired for letting someone break into the pizzeria, no matter what he was afraid of. So, armed with only his flashlight and the false security of a taser he’d never used, Mike Schmidt left the office.

He hadn’t had the nerve to even turn on the flashlight, despite the near-darkness of the pizzeria beyond the office.

Instead, Mike clutched it like a weapon, with both hands, as he slowly tiptoed along the floor. Despite his best efforts, his footsteps still echoed too much in the empty Pizzeria, and every stray creak or shuffle sent his heart leaping into his throat in terror. He had left the tablet back in the office - a grave mistake he would quickly come to regret - for fear that the light of the screen would give him away, so he had no idea if the animatronics had moved since he’d set out. He could only hope they hadn’t-

_‘click’_

The jovial strains of the ‘Toreador March’ suddenly broke the silence, and Mike felt his blood run cold. He didn’t need to turn around to know which animatronic had managed to sneak up on him. The song alone was clue enough. But as the pale light flickered from its source, lighting up the party floor like a sluggish strobe, Mike found himself turning anyway. He looked up at Freddy Fazbear himself, eyes slowly widening in mute terror, and he froze that way until the song came to its end.

For several long, lucky seconds, guard and animatronic simply stood there, staring each other down in a silent stalemate. Then, Freddy stepped forward, and reached out to grab the stunned night guard.

Instinctively, Mike swung the flashlight, and it connected with a muted _‘CLANG’_. The impact sent painful reverberations back up through his arms and hands, and he heard the lens shatter. Freddy didn’t even bother to look down at the slice through his faux fur suit, and smacked the broken flashlight out of Mike’s hands with one paw. The blow stung, and surely fractured something, but it shocked Mike out of his fearful freeze; the guard turned and began running full tilt across the party room, with the leader of the band only a few terrifyingly short steps away.

“Nononononono…!” Mike hooked a sharp right through the tables, banking on the larger animatronic’s inability to make tight turns, and hoping to buy himself a little distance. “Fuck’s sake, I was just trying to do my job!!!” His voice sobbing more than he would like, Mike grabbed the back of a chair as he ran past and pitched it behind him, in the hopes of creating an obstacle. He heard the chair be shattered to splinters by some heavy weight, and his heart climbed into his throat.

Those heavy footsteps didn’t even slow down.

Something moved in the darkness ahead of him, and Mike couldn’t slow down in time. He threw himself to the ground instead, and only barely avoided being decapitated as Foxy’s hook sliced through the air where his neck would have been. The pirate fox snarled, and started to turn, but Freddy wasn’t able to stop, either, and plowed right into him. Mike winced at the cacophonous sound of two machines colliding, and scrambled to get back on his feet before either animatronic could do the same.

He had to get back to the office…! He’d saved a lot of power that night, with all the inactivity. He could probably throw the doors down for the last three hours and still be fine! Haha! Right?? He’d be perfectly safe in the office!!

A crushing grip closing around his upper arm stopped Mike’s thoughts cold. It nearly jerked his shoulder out of its socket, too, as it abruptly yanked him to a stop. Mike immediately reached up to grab his shoulder, as if that would somehow soothe the pain, and looked up at the animatronic pleadingly. Bonnie didn’t seem to notice his catch crying out in pain, and simply started dragging him back towards the others.

Foxy and Freddy finally clambered back to their feet again, snarling at each other, but quickly turned their attentions to the unfortunate human. Mike started to hyperventilate as they closed in, and when Foxy’s hook speared through his shirt and tie - leaving him with a nasty scratch - he nearly choked on a fearful inhale. Freddy turned and walked away, presumably to prepare the suit in the back room. Bonnie let go of the guard’s arm, leaving him with sure-to-be bruises and oh god there’s no way his humerus wasn’t cracked and followed after the bear. Chica was nowhere to be seen, but Mike wasn’t really worried about her. He had a more pressing concern staring him right in the face.

Foxy hauled up with his hook, tearing Mike’s shirt, and forcing him to stand on his toes to keep from hanging. The pirate fox opened his jaws wide, and Mike wailed, looking into that rusty maw of metal and wiring. No, no, no! What happened to the suit plan!? He didn’t want to die like this! Foxy leaned in, almost tauntingly slow, and pride be damned, Mike started to cry. He squeezed his eyes shut, not wanting to see when the mechanics inside the animatronics mouth shifted, and slammed those jaws with a crushing force…

But before those jaws could come down on his head, he was saved…by a baseball bat swung with malicious intent out of the darkness of the party hall.

The metal bat slammed into Foxy’s head with a loud _‘CLANG’_ , and knocked his jaw clean off one of its hinges. The animatronic screeched and swung around to face the threat, swinging his hook back, and Mike along with it. The guard’s shirt and tie couldn’t hold up to this abuse, and tore apart, leaving only scraps behind on Foxy’s hook. Mike slammed painfully into a table, and immediately sank down to knees that wobbled too much to support him.

He had no time to process what was happening, though, for only a few seconds later, there was another loud _‘CLANG’_ and the sound of shattering glass. A large hand grabbed his arm - thankfully, not the bruised one - and yanked Mike up to his feet. The hand quickly let go, only to wrap around his back, and keep the guard from collapsing again.

“MOVE, kid!” A very familiar voice shouted, even as its owner all but carried Mike forward. “You have to get back to the office!”

“P….Paul?” The query barely managed to pass Mike’s lips, and was too weighted with shock and confusion to get too far. But, it was heard, and the guard found himself suddenly pulled behind the line of arcade cabinets at the back of the party hall. The halls to the security office were tantalizingly close, but Mike didn’t even notice. He just let himself be crushed in a hug by a person he’d never expected to see tonight, and made a vague attempt not to cry.

“Easy, kid, easy…” Paul lowered his voice to a near whisper, and it was nearly lost beneath the sounds of a furious Foxy demolishing a table in his rage. “It’s 4am and you’ve got most of your power left. Just get back to the office, and shut the doors. You’ll be safe.” Mike’s fingers dug silently into the fabric of Paul’s shirt, loath to have to move from this safe space. But another screech and smash of a table made him flinch.

“Michael, please, trust me.” Paul’s hug tightened, for a moment. “On my count, I want you to get up, and run to the office as fast as you can, got that? Michael, do you understand?” Mike grit his teeth and nodded against Paul’s shirt. The hug loosened, and the guard braced himself. “Ready…” Paul leaned against the arcade cabinets, watching Foxy’s rampage through the darkness. “…. _go_.” The man gave Mike a shove in the right direction, and Mike ran as fast as he could down the west hall.

He skidded into the security office so fast that he missed the west side switch, and slammed into the east switch first. Breathing hard, the young man threw himself back across the room to hammer the west switch. The slamming of the doors echoed in the sudden silence of the office, and after fighting for a few minutes to stand on shaking legs, Mike sank down to the floor. He took a breathy, shaky and weak, and held it.

Mike didn’t move again until the 6am bells rang.

……….

It was 6:15am before Mike found the motivation to move. His knees creaked as he stretched them out, and his arm seared with pain when he used it to push himself to his feet. He leaned on the west door switch, and it hissed open. The sound was far too loud, in the silence he’d grown accustomed to, and Mike flinched.

“…..” The guard slowly stepped over the threshold into the hallway, and looked down towards the party hall. Sunlight was filtering in through the doors and windows, giving the terrible building a softer, gentler atmosphere. Mike slowly started making his way down the hall, and then stopped again, just inside the party hall itself.

Paul was nowhere to be seen. There were a few blood drops soaking into the carpet behind the arcade cabinets, but Mike knew where those came from. The gash on his chest had stopped bleeding, but not before it soaked clean through what remained of his uniform shirt, and spilled just about everywhere. The young man took a deep breath, and moved past the cabinets, to peer around at the open hall. What he saw made his heart sink.

Several tables and countless chairs had been smashed, tossed, flipped, and otherwise damaged. The animatronics were all back on their stage, as if they had never moved in the first place, but Mike’s eyes skipped over them. He didn’t see what he wanted. He didn’t see Paul.

“….Paul?” Mike ventured to call out. “Boss…?” His voice grew a little louder, and dread grew in his heart when silence was his only answer. His feet carried him across the floor - past broken chairs and upturned tables - and past the stage to a door set off to the side. It was ajar, and the peeling white lettering of ‘Parts & Services’ was smeared with something red.

With shaking hands, Mike nudged open the door, and cautiously stepped inside. He breathed in, and a metallic smell filled his nostrils, causing him to choke. Mike clamped a hand over his mouth. There, sitting on the floor, was Paul’s purple hat. And there, sitting propped up against the far wall, was a yellow Freddy suit with bloody stains around its joints.

Something crawled up his throat, and Mike fought to swallow it back. Shaking, he ventured deeper into the room, but only just enough to grab the hat lying on the floor. The young man then fled the room, too afraid to get any closer to the gruesome coffin staring at his back. Mike managed to make it back to the arcade cabinets before his legs gave out on him, and he collapsed to all fours. He clutched the bloody hat against his stomach, fighting back a wailing sob, but not the tears that came with it.

But a sob escaped Mike’s lips, and then another, and another, and another. Within minutes, he was sobbing like a child, curled up on the dirty carpet among the cables of the arcade cabinets, as he clutched a bloody hat to his chest.

Oh god….oh god, oh god, no…nonoNO. Paul was…w-was….! Mike felt sick, and laid down on the floor, wincing and rolling over when he accidentally laid down on his injured arm. He couldn’t think - he didn’t want to think. Not about this. Paul couldn’t be dead. He couldn’t be! Fuck, what would it take to wake up from this nightmare!?

“….-chael?” The young man hiccuped and held his breath. Had that been….? No, it…it couldn’t be…but, it had sounded just like- “Mike…!” The guard scrambled to his feet so quickly, his head began to spin, and he had to lean against the arcade cabinets to stay upright. No! No, he wasn’t hearing things! That was-

“Paul!” Bloody, crying, and still clutching the hat, Mike ran back down the line of cabinets and swung around into the party hall proper. The poor young man looked around frantically, so sure he’d heard his lover’s voice. When he first saw nothing but the destroyed party floor, though, his heart began to sink. “P-Paul?” Tears began to blur his vision again, and a sob tightened his throat. No, no…! He’d been so sure…

“Michael!” Something thudded off to his left, and when Mike turned, he made a wheezing, whimpering sound. Paul was staggering down the steps from Pirate’s Cove, bloody, battered, and exhausted, but very much alive. Mike’s feet moved before he could register telling them to do so, and he met Paul at the bottom of the steps with a relieved hug that was as strong as his trembling arms would allow. As he felt Paul’s arms wrap around him in return, Mike opened his mouth.

Whether it was to apologize for taking a stupid risk that nearly got them both killed, or just to say how happy he was that they were both still alive, he would soon forget. The sound that came out of his mouth was strangled, and pitiful, and Mike buried his face into Paul’s shoulder to muffle the cry that followed it. His shoulders shook, and Mike tightened his grip as much as he could, even if it was only a fraction.

Thank god, Paul was alive.

Thank g o d….


	14. Ghost Stories

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written as a hypothetical scenario prompt for the RP blog.

The tablet hadn’t been in the office when Mike had arrived, and he’d nearly had a heart attack. He wouldn’t survive the night without that thing - it was his first line of defense against the animatronic horrors that came after him every night!

After nearly tearing the office apart, the night guard had discovered a post-it note, knocked from the desk and left on the floor, that had been written by one of the day staff. Some kid had gotten into the office, and spilled their soda all over the tablet. It had been taken back to the Parts & Services room for a quick repair, and would be waiting for the night guard there.

Mike glanced nervously at the clock, which told him he had twenty minutes left until midnight, and cursed inwardly. He wanted nothing to do with that room of d e a t h….but he needed that tablet, unless he wanted to end up there before 2am.

So, swallowing his fear, Mike headed for the Parts & Services room.

……….

The door creaked as it was opened, and Mike winced at the noise. He stepped across the threshold and fumbled for the light switch for a few seconds, and braced himself when the lights came on, and-

….oh. Huh. The guard relaxed a little. This room wasn’t as gruesome as he’d been expecting. Sure, there were suit parts everywhere, and shelves of heads staring down at him, but all the blood and gore and general horror movie atmosphere he’d been expecting wasn’t there.

He found the tablet easily enough. It had been left sitting on one of the work tables close to the door, so Mike grabbed it first thing. Out of habit, he turned it on and cycled through the cameras, just to prove to himself that it was working. However, when he brought the camera back to the party hall, something caught his eye.

“Huh…?” Mike looked up, and hurried out of the parts and services room. “Hey…hey, kid!” The tiny figure on the stage whipped around to look at the guard with wide, surprised eyes, though that was all Mike could see of them. The stage itself was still dark. “What are you doing here? The pizzeria’s closed.” The figure shied away from him, hiding behind the legs of Chica the Chicken, and Mike slowed to a stop at the foot of the stage.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay, you’re not in trouble…” The guard lowered his voice to a softer, more understanding tone. “Did your parents not pick you up, or something?” He asked in concern. “Do you need me to call someone?” The child peered out at him, and tilted their head. They never spoke, and a few seconds later, they disappeared. Literally. Their form blew away like smoke and vanished into the space behind Chica, and Mike felt his blood run cold.

“K…….kid?” A heavy silence was the only response, and Mike swallowed hard. That….oh, god, had…had that been a…gh-ghost? He’d been hazed with ghost stories when he’d been hired, but…h-he hadn’t thought…!

The guard turned and high-tailed it back to the safety of the office, and spent the rest of the night looking over his shoulder a bit more than usual.

Oddly enough, Chica wasn’t very active that night….


	15. Flirting for Dummies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Incredibly short, and totally crack~

“Is that a mirror in your pocket? Cause I can see myself in your pants!“

Mike sank a little lower in his chair, trying to hide behind the screen of the tablet. Not that there was anything to see there but evidence of his impending doom…30% power left, three hours still to go, Foxy camping at one door and Freddy camping at the other. It didn’t matter where Bonnie and Chica were. He’d be dead by 5am.

….possibly of embarrassment by four, if Freddy kept going.

“Hey, Mike, let’s play Barbie.” There was a _‘clank’_ as Freddy leaned his head against the glass of the office window. “I’ll be Ken and you can be the box I come in!” Foxy began to laugh uproariously from beyond the other door, and Mike pressed the tablet screen against his face in a futile attempt to disappear. Oh, god…

“Your eyes are blue, like the ocean.” Freddy continued with a waggle of his eyebrows. “And baby, I’m lost at sea~” At this point, Mike slid completely out of his chair, and crawled beneath the desk instead. “Wait, wait! I’ve got another one!” Freddy insisted. “ Do you believe in karma? Because I know some good karma-sutra positions!”

Mike curled into a ball and buried his burning face in his knees. If he survived the night, he was going to need a long, hard shower…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And one for the road...
> 
>  **Freddy:** “Hey Mike, do you work at Build-A-Bear?”
> 
>  **Mike:** “N….no?”
> 
>  **Freddy:** “Well, I do! So let me know when you want to get stuffed~”
> 
>  **Mike:** “…!!”
> 
>  **Foxy:** “Uh...I don’ think tha’ came out ‘ow ye meant it to…”


	16. Stargazing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A prompt about Bonnie and the sky.

Bonnie had always seen the sky through the dingy glass of the pizzeria.

And that was fine.

Really.

The building didn’t have many windows to speak of, besides a few small windows in the bathrooms, and one or two in the offices. The doors could have counted, too, but they were plastered with so many stick on graphics and hand prints that it was hard to see anything clearly through them. The best you could see, from either side, was merely lights and shadows. He didn’t really have the privilege to be picky.

But there was one room where he had an unobstructed view of the sky, and Bonnie spent many of his nights there.

The supply closet.

The window of this tiny room was more of a skylight, really, and had once allowed maintenance crews to crawl up onto the roof to reach the air conditioning units mounted there. The crews, though, had long ago taken to simply climbing ladders from the outside of the building, and so, the skylight’s latch and hinges had long rusted shut. But rain and snow and maybe a healthy dose of good luck had always kept the skylight’s glass relatively clean and clear, and at night, when the main power shut down, and Bonnie dimmed the glow of his eye displays, he could see the stars.

And he thought this was the clearest view of the sky he’d ever get to see.

Up until the day the night guard opened the back door.

Barely two steps over the threshold of the building, Bonnie stopped, and looked back at the door. Mike Schmidt flinched at the sudden attention and disappeared behind the door, but Bonnie knew to wait. It had taken them so long to convince their night guard that it was safe to leave the office at night, and he wasn’t going to be the one who chased him back into hiding. After a minute, the young man reappeared, peeking cautiously around the edge of the propped-open back door, and Bonnie watched him.

“…what are you waiting for?” Mike finally asked, hesitantly breaking the silence between them. “I thought you wanted to see the stars?”

“Don’t you want to see them, too?” Bonnie tilted his head. Mike stiffened, his grip on the door tightening for a moment. The animatronic wanted him outside the building - alone - where no-one could see them from the street?! No way! He wasn’t going to fall for this ploy! He wasn’t-

“Please come with me?” Bonnie’s ears drooped. “None of the others want to see them, and I don’t want to be alone.” Mike’s shoulders sagged. Well, fuck. The rabbit had said the magic word. ‘Alone’. The guard grit his teeth together and lightly banged his forehead against the door…but he also let go of the knob, and shuffled out of hiding.”

“…..fine.” Bonnie’s ears sprang upright happily, but he tried to keep his excitement reigned in. He knew Mike was a little jumpy, and didn’t want to scare him off. “But only because I’m supposed to be responsible for you.” The guard griped. Bonnie bounced on his toes and hurried out of the shadow of the building - out into the parking lot - with Mike following grudgingly behind him.

The lot was completely devoid of cars, and the few street lights scattered around it were turned off. Bonnie had never seen them turned on, and with how management kept up the rest of the pizzeria, it was possible the lights didn’t work at all. But that just made the sky even darker, and the animatronic skidded to a stop in the center of the lot, head tilted back to look up at the wide sky.

“Wow….!” Bonnie breathed out. He had never seen so many stars - not even through the supply closet skylight! He leaned back on his heels to see more, and more, and more…

_CLANG!_

Mike jumped as the rabbit fell over on his back like a piece of lumber, and clasped a hand over his heart. He sucked in a breath, prepared to berate the animatronic for scaring him like that, but the words stuck on his tongue when he looked down.

Bonnie was staring at the night sky with a wide-eyed sense of wonder that Mike hadn’t seen for a long time; an absolutely childish awe, that this was a _thing_ and it was a _wonderful_ thing and they were just _so happy_ they could see it. The guard let out his breath as a sigh instead, and lowered his hand. After a minute of hesitation, Mike moved a little closer, and moved to sit down on the pavement near Bonnie. He leaned back on the asphalt, and pillowed his hands behind his head.

“….aren’t they pretty?” Bonnie whispered after about ten minutes of silence. Mike tried not to flinch this time. “I like how some of them flicker.”

“Those ones are stars.” Mike muttered back. “They make their own light, so they flicker….kind of like a candle. The ones that don’t are just reflecting light from a star, so they’re more like mirrors.”

“Ooh….what are those ones?” Bonnie asked, his voice laced with curiosity. Mike cracked a smile for a second or two. 

“Those are planets, usually….”

……….

From the back door of the pizzeria, three pairs of glass eyes watched the pair lying out in the parking lot. Two of the pairs traded a knowing look, and one retreated back into the building, leaving only two at the door. One of the remaining pairs flashed in a confused blink, and looked up at the other.

“Freddy, why are they just laying there?” Chica whispered with concern. “It’s so chilly out there - Mike might catch a cold!” A deep voice chuckled, and patted the chicken animatronic on the back with one paw.

“He’ll be fine, Chica.” Freddy assured her. “It’ll only be for an hour, at best. Bonnie knows not to keep Mike out there too long. Besides, you know he’s been looking forward to this opportunity for ages.”

“….hmph.” Chica managed to put a frown on her beat, and crossed her arms in a sulky manner. “Yeah, if you say so…” She relented. “At least they both seem happy…” Freddy looked out over the parking lot, to where Mike was pointing out something in the night sky, to Bonnie’s eager amusement, and smiled.

“Yes,” He agreed. “They do, don’t they?”


	17. Making a Convincing 'Point'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short, sweet, and feat. an OC who's a bit of a dick.

Mike stopped for coffee every Sunday at 3pm, sharp.

He ordered a double of the strongest drink they had, and got a weird look from the barista every time.

He then sat down at a table in the furthest corner of the patio, against the building, and read for two hours.

Keith knew all this because he’d been stalking his former sibling.

……….

Hmm. Stalking may have been a bit strong of a word. He’d only been following the twenty-three year old around for a few short weeks, and it wasn’t like he meant to hurt the guy. He just wanted to make sure that when he approached Mike, he wouldn’t have to worry about any ‘friends’ or ‘siblings’ interfering. 

The ‘friends’ part wasn’t going to be a problem, Keith had noted. If Mike wasn’t running around like a chicken with its head cut off between his night job and all the extra shifts he picked up, he was sleeping at home, or out chaperoning the latest gaggle of foster kids around town. He didn’t hang out with people his own age (except his fucking ‘siblings’…), he didn’t go out drinking with coworkers….

Geez, Keith almost felt sorry for the kid.

The man sank back against the trunk of the tree beside him, twirling his switchblade around in one hand almost casually. Just a few yards ahead, through the landscaped foliage, he could see Mike sitting at his usual table, with his usual coffee, and his usual book. Same one as yesterday…and the day before. Huh. He remembered Mike being a pretty good reader, when they were younger. Must’ve been a tough book.

The cafe was having a slow day, and the patio was almost empty. Mike was all alone in his little corner, and out of view from the main doors, since his table was just around the corner of the building, and right up against the railing. Keith guessed that Mike liked the privacy. He sympathized; living in a small space with a lot of people really made you value the time you to got yourself.

But this isolation also presented Keith with a golden opportunity, and he just couldn’t resist it.

Settling the handle of his knife against his palm, Keith began slowly moving forward through the foliage behind the cafe. It was slow going to make sure he didn’t rustle too many leaves or break any sticks, but Mike seemed too absorbed in whatever he was reading to even notice. As Keith drew closer, he could hear his former sibling muttering under his breath in some foreign language. Ah. Self-teaching.

That was more like the Mike he knew.

Keith held his breath as he came up to the edge of the railing, and graciously waited for Mike to finish the paragraph he was mouthing along with before clamping a hand onto one shoulder, and leaning his elbow on the other. This just so happened to hang the switchblade right in front of Mike’s face, and he unsheathed it with perfect dramatic timing to keep the younger man from crying out.

“Hey, Mikey.” Keith said in a voice that (he thought) was reassuring. “Got a minute to chat with your old pal Keith?”


	18. Out of Body Experience

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short drabble based off a Magic Anon on the roleplay blog that turned poor Mike into a ghost for 24 hours.
> 
> As backstory, since these tales don't tell all the lore, Mike's father was killed two years prior.

He remembered surviving another night; being so relieved that he could still go home to his family that his hand shook almost too much to clock out.

He remembered tripping over a fallen chair and face planting right in front of the stage, and thinking how the carpet tasted like stale pizza grease and dirt.

He remembered a voice that had giggled above him, and the panic it had prompted as he scrambled up and bolted out the door.

He remembered headlights and screeching tires, and then….nothing.

…….

……….

Why was he back at the pizzeria?

Mike blinked slowly, looking around the party hall in confusion. Hadn’t he left? The guard looked down. He was still wearing his uniform. Had he forgotten something and gone back inside? But….the building was still dark. He hadn’t left the office until 6:30am. Even Anders should have arrived by now.

_“What’s going on…?”_ Mike wondered out loud. Wow, even his voice sounded strange…like he was talking through a tin can.

_“Michael?”_ A voice with the same strange tint as his spoke up from behind him. He hadn’t heard anyone come in yet, so Mike turned around, hoping to see a familiar face. His eyes widened, and his heart clenched in his chest at the sight of the speaker.

_“Hey, kiddo…”_ Shaun smiled sadly. _“Been a while, hasn’t it?”_ Mike made a tiny noise in the back of his throat.

_“D…..dad?”_ He whimpered. Oh god….oh god. His throat felt tight, and Mike began to fill sick. If his father was here then…then…w-was he…?!

_“No, nono…”_ Shaun moved forward and reached out with his left hand, catching the back of Mike’s head and pulling it down against his shoulder. Mike automatically wrapped his arms around his father’s torso, just like he always had as a kid.

_“Don’t panic, Mikey. It’s alright.”_ Shaun leaned his head down against his son’s. _“I know it’s scary, but you won’t be stuck here long…”_ He moved his arm down across Mike’s back as his shoulders began to shake, and quietly rubbed his back. _“I’m gonna be here with you the whole time, okay?”_ Shaun waited for a second or two. _“Okay, kid?”_

_“….o-okay.”_ Mike hiccupped. He tightened his arms around his father, and just tried not to wail.

He didn’t understand. Shaun was d e a d - Mike had been there in the hospital when the doctor had come to them, bloody and stoic and with the worst news of Mike’s life. If he was here…if Mike could see him - f e e l him - then…the only logical explanation was one that his mind refused to accept.

Mike closed his eyes and buried his face into his father’s shoulder. He didn’t care, anymore. He just wanted to hold on and never let go…


	19. Timing Out

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The M!A has come to an end on the blog, and so, we wrap up the drabble (with another drabble).
> 
> Mentions OCs used on the blog, as well as an OC by AO3's own Ridkey.

_“It’s starting to hurt again, isn’t it?”_ Shaun watched knowingly as Mike shifted his legs uncomfortably for the fifth time in as many minutes. His son glanced at him, eyes still wet with unshed tears that really weren’t. He opened his mouth, swallowed, and closed it. Then he asked,

_“Why does it hurt…?”_ Mike whimpered. _“I thought I was d…dead…”_ Shaun sighed inwardly. He’d been procrastinating this discussion, but it looked like things couldn’t wait any longer. _“I, I shouldn’t be able to feel anything…right…?”_

_“…you’re not dead, kiddo.”_ Mike looked up at him sharply - questioningly - and Shaun braced himself. _“You just came close. Someone probably got you to a hospital in time, and they’ve been working on you since you woke up here. If you’re starting to feel things again…”_ Shaun paused. _“…it means you’re starting to wake up.”_

_“I’m….I’m not…dead?”_ Mike slowly realized. Shaun was surprised by how much the confusion in his son’s voice hurt. It was like he was six again, and slowly realizing that his beloved goldfish hadn’t actually run away. _“B-but…does that mean this…isn’t real?”_ Mike looked down at his hands and turned them. They sure looked like the real thing. Felt like the real thing, too.

_“….no, kiddo.”_ Shaun closed his eyes. He couldn’t look at Mike; couldn’t bear the devastation he could already hear in his son’s voice. _“I’m afraid not.”_ He lied through his ghostly teeth. _“I’m just a figment of your subconscious.”_ He forced a smile, and nudged Mike’s shoulder with his stump arm.

_“But hey, it’s good to know that of all the people you could’ve picked to keep you company, you chose me.”_ He chuckled. Mike’s lip quivered, and he leaned against his father’s side. Shaun’s smile fell immediately, and he reached his good arm around to hug his son.

_“I wish you were real.”_ Mike whimpered as his shoulders began to shake. Shaun felt distantly grateful that the boy couldn’t see his face. Surely, his heartache was showing. _“I want to see you again….”_

_“Not like this, Michael.”_ Shaun swallowed the lump in his throat (weird, how he could still feel so choked up when he didn’t actually have a body), and squeezed his son in the one-armed hug. _“One day it’s gotta happen, but that day’s not today._ ” He leaned back, and held Mike at arm’s length. He tried not to acknowledge how his son clung to his projected jacket in a feeble attempt to hold them together.

_“Mom still needs you.”_ It was a low blow, to play the family card, but Shaun didn’t want Mike fighting to stay here. He didn’t belong. Not yet. Thank god, not yet. _“All the kids still need you.”_ The ghost braced himself, and swore that he’d make this up to Mike later. It really wasn’t fair to play this card. _“You’re not gonna leave them behind, are you?”_

_“….”_ He watched his son’s teary eyes harden, and his jaw clench tight, and Shaun felt the lowest he ever had since that first week in Vietnam. _“No…’m not.”_ Mike whispered with sudden resolve. _“…’m not gonna leave them behind.”_ He sniffed, and forced himself to let go of his father’s jacket to wipe his eyes. The pain was becoming difficult to ignore; stabbing pains up his spine and legs, and an uncomfortable pressure in his throat.

_“I knew you wouldn’t, Mikey…”_ Shaun hesitated, and then leaned in to plant a kiss on the young man’s forehead, and held it there. _“Tell your mom I love her, okay?”_ Mike squeezed his eyes shut as the pain increased again, and reached out for Shaun again. He felt like a child again, wanting his father’s comfort like this….but his hands touched only empty air, and Mike’s eyes snapped open to a featureless darkness.

_“Dad…?”_ Mike felt his heart clench. No, no! He wasn’t ready! _“Dad…!”_

…….

……….

…………..

Mike opened his eyes to a plain white ceiling, and a familiar face hovering over him. Jodie’s eyes were red and tired, but the moment her son met her gaze, she broke out into a wide, relieved smile, and cupped his face with her hands.

She said something - something teary and excited and something wet splashed onto Mike’s cheek - and then shouted something over her shoulder. More faces appeared around his bed (oh, he was lying in a bed?), and it didn’t take him quite so long to register them. Jodie, Lynn, Sasha, Tara, even Coraline…and Paul, and Anders, too? How nice…but wait, hadn’t Luis been in Australia?

And what was _Carol_ doing here?

Mike furrowed his brows in confusion, and shifted, but quickly found himself held down by multiple hands. _’Don’t get up’_ they said. _‘We’ll get a nurse’_ they said. Lynn’s face disappeared from his peripheral vision. _‘Just stay awake with us’_ they pleaded.

_[I can do that]_ Mike thought. He felt like he’d slept enough…From the bedside table, a pair of plastic button eyes watched him quietly. No-one paid the golden freddy doll any attention, and all in the room assumed someone else had brought it in. Freddy was Mike’s favorite of the Fazbear characters, after all. It wasn’t out of place. The doll shifted ever so slightly, looking down at the young man in the bed, and seemed to wilt a little.

He wished he didn’t have to lie, but it was for the best…

All for the best…


	20. After Hours

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *lays down on the floor*
> 
> This chapter is attempted NSFW. Read at your own risk.

Oh, god, why had he ever agreed to this?

Mike shifted in his chair, trying to get comfortable for a long shift, and shivered as he felt the device within him shift as well. Geez, it wasn’t even on, and already he was having trouble….

It wasn’t like there was anyone to catch them. They were the only ones here so late, and even the animatronics were shut down for a software update that would take all night. The guard bit his lip and glanced up at the reflection of the figure behind him.

“Um…l-listen,” Mike started. “I’m not sure about this anymore. Maybe we should-“

“Don’t say another word.” The figure ordered, twirling a small, wired remote in their hands. Mike closed his mouth with a ‘click’. “Stay quiet the entire time, and I’ll give you a reward.” The figure reached out, and ran their fingers through Mike’s short, dark hair.

“Would you like that?” They asked. Mike leaned ever so slightly into the touch. “A special treat for all your effort?” They ran their thumb over the remote, and there was a soft ‘click’.

“…!” Mike’s breath hitched as the vibrator in his ass began to hum, and he grit his teeth. Somehow, he managed to bite his tongue as shiver after small shiver rippled up his spine, and he glared across at the reflection. No far, starting with no warning! He tugged at the collar of his shirt, already feeling too hot, and moved to undo the buttons and tie. The hand on his head ruffled his short hair.

“Good start, good start…” The figure praised as Mike tossed his shirt aside. They shifted their hand, and the vibrator’s speed increased. Mike arched his back and curled his toes, just barely restraining a tiny, breathless whimper. His pants were already beginning to feel tight, and Mike started to reach for his crotch.

“Noooo…” The figure caught his hand and pulled it away, their voice light and teasing. “No touching yourself. We have to make this a challenge for you~” Mike rolled eyes dramatically, but didn’t fight as the figure grabbed his other hand, and pulled both behind his head. They guided him to lace his fingers together, and then pinned them beneath their own hand. All the while, the vibrator buzzed away, faint and muffled by the chair and Mike’s body.

“Can you handle one more step…?” The figure fondled the remote with their other hand, and flicked another switch. This time, Mike made a shuddery gasping noise as the vibrator jumped up not one, but two steps, and his hips bucked down against the seat cushion. He tried to pull his hands down; he needed leverage - something, anything! - to hold on to. But the figure held his hands firm, and Mike arched back against the seat in frustration.

He heard another faint ‘click’, and the vibrator sped up one last step. Mike cried out in ecstasy and rolled in the chair, nearly doubling over with the involuntary crunch. The figure laughed behind him, and leaned in close, until their breath was tickling the back of Mike’s ear.

“That wasn’t really fair of me, was it?” They mused. “Going so far without warning you. You weren’t ready for it. But tell you what…” They finally let go of his hands, and Mike immediately began to fumble with his belt. “Put on a show for me, boy~” They purred. “And if it’s good enough, I’ll still give you that reward~”

Obediently, Mike shoved his hands down his pants, and attempted to wiggle out of them as fast as he could. Considering his current circumstances, the task was almost monumental, and the moment his groin was free, he stopped. That was all he really needed, anyway. The vibrator continued to hum along, setting a beat for Mike’s hands to match as he set to work, aided by the slickness of a hastily opened bottle of lube.

Back arched and hips rolling, Mike stroked himself faster and faster. His breath came in short, staggered gasps, and his eyes (when they were open) were rolled back in pleasure. His toes curled to the rhythm of the vibrator massaging his prostate, and under the watchful eyes of his nightly master, he came closer and closer to release. With another soft ‘click’, the vibrator was brought up to its final, fastest speed, and Mike let out a wailing cry.

He came with just a few more strokes, and the vibrator was slowly stepped down to its lowest setting, and then, shut off entirely. Panting, Mike hunched over in the chair, sticky, sweaty, and still riding the high of his orgasm. He felt arms slide around his shoulders, and a weight lean down on his neck. Something nuzzled the skin below his jaw, and Mike whimpered.

“There’s my good boy~” The figure praised as they dragged their fingertips along his collarbone. “Catch your breath, and we’ll get you cleaned up, alright? You’ve earned your reward.” They chuckled. “And we still have aaaall night to give it to you~” Mike swallowed, and cracked a tiny, triumphant smile.

Score.


	21. Fly Away Home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Born from a mixture of an M!A on the RP blog that gave Mike wings for a week, and a meme in which poor Mike had to obey commands preceded by a certain symbol.
> 
> This response came out long and lovely, so I thought you all might enjoy it, too.

The night guard’s eyes glazed over, and he nodded at the strange figure. Ignoring the basement - and the increasingly concerned animatronics - he walked out the front door of the building, and started walking home.

By some divine grace, the streets were deserted so early that morning, and Mike arrived at his own front door without being seen. His wings still dragged the ground as he opened the front gate and moved through it; feathers caught on the wrought iron bars and were tugged free, but if he felt the pain, Mike didn’t react. He shuffled down the brick walk to the porch, and slowly moved up the steps to the door.

He grabbed the knob, but it wouldn’t turn. Someone coming home late that night had locked it out of habit. The command hadn’t included breaking into his own house, so Mike let go of the knob, and knocked. Then, he dropped his arm to wait.

The magic seemed to fizzle out just as the door opened, and Mike found himself face to face with his mother.

Panic slammed him so hard, he forgot how to breathe. His wings stiffened, and his feathers puffed up, making the already impossible task of hiding his new appendages even harder. Jodie was still in her bathrobe - she must have woken up only shortly before Mike got home. She watched her son hug himself, shaking, wheezing, and…winged?….and found herself speechless.

What did one say when your son suddenly grew…wings?

“M-mom-“ Michael couldn’t look her in the eye, and Jodie’s heart twisted. “I-I can-…I-I can’t-….m-mom…” Every attempt he made to speak fell apart, and the man made a pathetic little keening sound and squeezed his eyes shut, as if bracing for impact.

“Mommy…” He sniffled. “Please don’t hate me…”

_**-Flash-** _

_She’d seen her little boy shuffle into the kitchen, and immediately knew something was wrong. He clutched a piece of paper in his hands - pressed to his chest, so it couldn’t be read - and was visibly shaking from a failed effort not to cry. This was not the Michael who had left so confidently for school just that morning; so excited to be starting finals week and moving on from the 9th grade._

_“Michael?” Jodie turned off the oven and covered the soup to keep it warm before taking off her oven mitts. “Michael, what’s wrong?” Her son looked up at her from where he stood, frozen in the doorway, but only for a moment. He had to look away again, and clutched the paper even tighter to his chest. His knuckles were white - had he been doing this the whole walk home?_

_“M-mom-“ His voice was choked and tearful, and a thousand panicked thoughts ran through Jodie’s mind. Had something happened at school? To one of his classmates? To one of his siblings? To Michael?_

_“W-we got our r-….report cards to-today…” Slowly, as if each step itself were painful, Michael shuffled across the kitchen, and held the paper up to his mother with shaking hands. He flinched when Jodie gently covered his hands with hers, and turned the paper so she cold read it._

_At first, nothing looked out of place - there were all the usual “A”s, and the usual ‘comments’ from teachers who thought they knew her little boy better than she did._

_But there, under the column marked “Art”, was a plain, black inked…_

_“C-“._

_Michael began to shake under her hand, each moment of silence another death knell in his head. He started to sniff, then gasp, and then sob._

_“Mommy, please don’t hate me…” The boy begged, unable to look his mother in the eye. “I-I’m sorry! I-I’ll try harder next time! I-I’m sorry…!”_

_**-Flash-** _

“…-orry. I’m sorry…” Jodie snapped out of her thoughts when she realized the sobbing wasn’t coming from her memory. In front of her, Mike had curled in on himself as much as he could without falling over…just like that little boy, nine years ago, who had been so afraid to bring home a grade that was anything less than perfect, he’d nearly made himself sick with fear.

Jodie let go of the door and pulled her son into the tightest hug she could manage, and then held him even tighter when he shivered in her arms, as if ready to fall apart entirely.

She shushed him gently as he clung back, digging his fingers into her robe and pressing his face into the collar to muffle a wailing sob. His wings curled in around them - soft and speckled like the hawks that circled above their backyard on lazy days - and felt almost like a hug themselves. She rubbed her son’s back as his shoulders shook, and pressed his head into her shoulder.

“ _Bonne nuit, mon ange, c’est l'heure de fermer les yeux…_ ” Jodie sang. Michael had once confided in her that this melody still made him feel at ease, even if he could not understand the words. “Et de mettre ces questions de côté pour un autre jour…”

She kept singing, gently rocking on her heels, and slowly - very slowly - Michael’s sobbing petered off into silence. Jodie waited still, until she felt Michael slowly begin to relax his arms in their hug, and his wings slumped in fatigue.

“Come inside, Michael.” Jodie stepped back, but pulled her son with her, so he wouldn’t have a chance to get the wrong impression. “It’s October, for heaven’s sake. You’ll catch your death out there without a jacket.” Mike made a strange sound that might have been a chuckle as he shuffled over the threshold after his mother.

“Mom, I’d be fine…” Mike sniffed. “I have a down ‘jacket’, after all…” Jodie smiled softly, and carefully closed the door behind them to avoid catching any feathers.

If Michael could joke about this, then it was going to be okay, and that was all she needed to hear.


	22. Cards Against Animatronics, Part One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A short little drabble based off a request on the RP blog.

“ _What’s scarier: the purple serial killer, the owner sacrificing guards to the animatronics, or Mike without coffee?_ ”

Freddy stared down at the three handwritten cards with an unreadable expression, large fingers steepled in front of his face. Around the table, two of four other players couldn’t seem to contain their giggles, even though only one of them could have played the three cards. Finally, the bear moved, and hovered his hand over the four stacks of three cards each. He gathered the handwritten ones, and held them up.

“Who played ‘Mike without coffee’?” He asked. All eyes turned to the silent Goldie as he raised his hand. Freddy shook his head in disappointment, but handed over the coveted black card. “I can’t believe these cards are even in here…who wrote these, anyway?”

“Goldie, have you really seen Mike without his coffee?” A curious Bonnie asked as Foxy made a show of shuffling his cards with one hand, and whistling innocently. “I thought that thermos was glued to his hand.”

“ _I saaaww._ ” Goldie promised with a nod of his head. “ _He waaas tiiiired and grumpyyyy aaaall daaay. It waaas spooookyyyy…._ ”

“Wow…that says a lot, coming from you.” A wide-eyed Chica muttered. Across the table, Foxy snorted.

“Tha’ be a load ‘a bilge water…” The pirate retorted. “The lad’s ne’er gone wi’out that smelly bean wat’r durin’ work hours, an’ ye know it.” Foxy drew a black card from the appropriate deck and scrutinized it, curling up his lip and replacing it for another when he deemed it unworthy of his melodious voice. “Ye’d probably ‘ave t’ follow ‘im ‘ome ta see ‘im wi’out the stuff…”

“ _Yeesss…_ ” Goldie’s grin widened, and Chica and Bonnie looked at him in awe.

“Oh my gosh! You left the pizzeria?!” The rabbit gasped. Chica reached across to grab Goldie’s arm, accidentally knocking over the discard pile.

“What’s it like out there? Was it scary? Was it fun?” Freddy rolled his eyes and sat back in his chair, knowing they wouldn’t be getting this game back on track any time soon. He cast a glance at the security camera that faced the stage, still dark in disuse, and found himself not for the first time missing their usual guard. This childish display might actually have done a bit to endear them to Michael, had he been behind the camera and watching.

This Sunday shift might as well have not been there, for all the work she did…


	23. Adoption Papers, Part 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part one of a series of ask responses that (I think) turned out very well.
> 
> None of this series is canon. They were simply fun to write.

Eleven year old Michael hugged his Freddy doll a little tighter as he peered down through the slates in the balcony railing.

He didn’t want to meet this new parent….it always ended badly, and he didn’t have Tara or Coraline or Luis around anymore to make him feel better after things inevitably went wrong. They’d all grown up - they didn’t need to be adopted anymore, the law said. They had apartments and jobs and they visited a lot still but it wasn’t the same.

He didn’t know the children who took their place. He didn’t have the time to. They came and stayed for only a few weeks before they left again with a new, happy family, while he was (always) left behind. Possible parents kept coming, but he never left, and each time that front door closed, he felt worse and worse.

Shaun and Jodie tried to make him feel better. They promised him there was a family waiting for him, somewhere out there. They promised him that he was welcome in their home as long as he needed to stay. Michael knew this was just a nice way of saying he’d still have a roof over his head even after everyone else gave up on passing him off to a new one.

The boy shifted, and drew his knees up to his chest along with the toy. This new parent was just another drop in the bucket, as far as he was concerned. They’d have an awkward interview, try to make small talk, maybe go sit out in the backyard for a while. But nothing would change. The man would leave, Michael would still be here, and he’d have another bit of muttered criticism to hang over his head.

He wondered what this man would call him. ‘Clingy’…’depressed’…‘childish’ maybe? People said he was too old to still have stuffed animals at eleven. The last new mother had tried to take it away. Michael’s grip on the toy tightened. The Freddy doll was the only constant he felt he had, anymore. He wouldn’t give it up.

He heard Shaun calling him from down the stairs, and took a deep breath to fight back the tears pricking at his eyes. It was too early to start crying, he told himself as he stood up. The bad stuff hadn’t even happened yet. Michael forced himself to let go of the Freddy doll, only holding on to it by one arm as he descended the stairs, and faced the man who’d come to adopt him.

He hoped this would be over with quick…


	24. Adoption Papers, Part 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part two of a series of ask responses that (I think) turned out very well.
> 
> None of this series is canon. They were simply fun to write.

Michael didn’t understand why he had to meet another adult today.

He’d already spent an hour with Ms. Kristen, and it had been terrible. She’d talked about changing his clothes, and the foods he ate, and told him he’d have to say goodbye to Reeses because she wouldn’t stand for pets in her house. Michael felt like he was being punished, sitting with her, and had cried when she’d left.

Jodie had hugged him, and apologized, but Michael had retreated up to his room almost immediately. It felt empty, up there…he didn’t have his roommate, Cybil, anymore. She’d been adopted by a wonderful family last week. Michael didn’t understand why he couldn’t get visits from nice people like that.

Maybe Francis was right, and there was something wrong with him? That would explain a lot….

The little boy sat at the top of the stairs, curled up against the balcony railing as he listened to the talking below. He didn’t look down at these new people. He didn’t want to get his hopes up if they looked nice, and then turned out to be terrible. It had happened so many times before.

He heard Jodie call his name, and timidly shifted to peer down over the railing where the stairs began to descend. Oh, no…this person looked nice…


	25. Adoption Papers, Part 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part three of a series of ask responses that (I think) turned out very well.
> 
> None of this series is canon. They were simply fun to write.

Michael didn’t want to come inside and meet the new visitor. He was feeling pretty nice today, and he didn’t want that ruined by another two hours of awkward small talk, and another failed adoption.

Besides, Reeses wasn’t tired yet, so the boy threw the tennis ball one more time. He watched the Newfoundland race off across the yard, still a big bundle of energy despite being an adult by all standards. Mike felt a little jealous. Reeses always seemed happy and carefree…

He wished he could feel like that for more than a few hours.

Michael heard the sliding glass doors open behind him, and resisted the urge to cringe. Jodie meant well, he knew she did. He had to be polite…only until this prospective parent grew tired of the idea of adoption, and left, just like everyone else. That way, Jodie wouldn’t get her feelings hurt…only he would.

Michael still procrastinated the meeting, though, waiting instead for Reeses to trot back across the yard with the ball held proudly in his mouth. He reached out to pat the dog, but to his dismay, Reeses ran right past him. The dog bounced right up to Jodie, tail wagging and chomping on the ball. Michael turned, facing his foster mother and the newcomer, and gave the canine a short glare.

Traitor…

With no choice left, now, the boy took a quiet, deep breath, and steeled his nerves. It would only take an hour - two at best - for this adult to tire of him. Best to just get it over with...


	26. Adoption Papers, Part 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part four of a series of ask responses that (I think) turned out very well.
> 
> None of this series is canon. They were simply fun to write.

Mike hadn’t believed Francis when the older boy had told him that a bear was coming to adopt him.

Francis also said the bear was going to eat him, and that Michael should give him all his stuff. Francis liked to lie, though. Cybil said that’s why he was seventeen and still living in a foster home, because no parent wanted to adopt liars. Michael had kicked him in the shin, and hid on the roof until Shaun had made Francis leave for work.

But now, he stared wide-eyed through the crack in the door at the figure casually chatting with Jodie in the front hall. That was an actual bear, and when he laughed, Michael could see his big, pointy teeth. Oh no…h-had Francis been telling the truth for once??

N-no, no…Michael shook his head. Jodie wouldn’t let that happen to him. She was too nice for that. She wouldn’t let him become a snack (r-right?). The boy gripped his favorite toy a little tighter, and fiddled with its bow tie.

This bear was a person, just like Cybil, and that one bird-girl he hadn’t actually gotten to know because she’d been adopted within the week. This was going to end the same way it always did - it didn’t matter if the parent was human or not, right? So, there was no use panicking….

Michael timidly pushed open the door a little more and poked his head through. Usually, he waited until the parents came to him, but he knew how things always went. He just had to get it over with, so he could run up and hide in his room the rest of the day.

Yeah. That would work.


	27. Icarus

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt from the RP blog: "I can fly!!"
> 
> Feat. cameos from day shift Anders, Phone Guy, and Mike's Bad Life Choices.

_“NO! No, you can’t!”_ Houston Bell had never felt so helpless. His incorporeal hands couldn’t touch the night guard - only pass right through - yet he was still tugged along in the man’s wake. If not for the old phone earpiece hanging from Michael’s belt, Houston would have been left behind in the office where this mess all started.

Sweet mother of god, he never should have let Mike try something so stupid!

Then again, with his inability to affect the mortal coil with anything but his voice, what could he have really done? Michael would have mixed together the same concoction of coffee, energy drinks, and crushed caffeine pills whether Houston had spoke up or not.

But, maybe, if Houston had said something, Mike would have decided to just try a sip, and not to down the entire thing in one go.

Fuck’s sake, the kid was hearing colors.

_“Michael, for the love ‘a god. Do. Not. Move.”_ Houston pleaded. _“Tha’sa long way down, an’ the asphalt ain’t somethin’ yu wanna pick a figh’ wit’.”_ From where he stood balanced on the raised edge of the building, the night guard swayed a little, and looked out over the drop.

“No, see, I can, and I can prove it!” He insisted, looking back at the ghost with wide eyes and a wide grin. Too wide. If he survived this, he’d have to mark down tonight’s concoction as a definite ’never-consume-again’. “All I gotta do is get a good running start, and-“

Oh, god, Houston couldn’t look. Of all the ways he expected Mike to die in this place, throwing himself off the roof in the throes of an over-caffeinated delusion was not-

“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” Corporeal hands - not Houston’s - grabbed Mike by the back of his shirt just in the nick of time, and hauled him back from the edge of the roof. Day guard Anders Leifsson turned the night guard around and began marching him back towards the fire escape. A remnant from the days before the pizzeria’s opening, it had been built for access down from the planned second floor, and left behind when the floor was never built.

“That’s enough of that, kid…” Anders growled. “The hell is wrong with you?! I don’t care how ‘young and resilient’ you are, a fall like that might break your neck!” Unseen, Houston huffed out a sigh of relief, and let himself be dragged along by the anchor Mike still carried. Thank god for the day shift…

Mike protested the entire way down, but Anders stoically marched him back inside despite this. He pulled his coworker past the security office (past a concerned Chica) and into the employee lounge, where he sat Mike down on a couch, and demanded he ‘STAY’ so sternly, Mike actually wilted a little. Houston settled on the cushion beside Mike, stretching his arms over the back of the couch, and leaving no impressions.

_“I’m nevah lettin’ ya do the’ again…”_ The ghost swore. He looked over at the young man, and narrowed his eyes. _“An’ if ye try, I’m callin’ ya an ambulance ’nstead ‘a Anders, ye hear me?”_ Mike glanced down at the receiver hanging on his belt, unable to see much of Houston, but able to hear his voice from where it projected best.

“Yes, sir…” He muttered sullenly. A few minutes passed in silence in the lounge, with Mike tracing colorful patterns in the air only he could see and Houston watching in weary parental protectiveness. Then Anders returned, and folded Mike’s hands around a cup of water.

“I called your sister.” The day guard reported after Mike took a sip. “She’ll be here in about half an hour to get you home. That should still be enough time to get you out before management sees you.” God knows that wouldn’t end well. Mike muttered something unintelligible around the cup, but kept drinking the water, so Anders relaxed a bit, and headed out to make sure the rest of the pizzeria was still in one piece.

“Thanks for the call, boss.” Anders glanced back over his shoulder. He couldn’t see the ghost…not any more than Mike could. But he’d recognized the voice of his former boss on that frantic phone call that had woken him up from a dead sleep. He didn’t know how….and he wasn’t sure he wanted to….

But in light of what they’d avoided tonight, he wasn’t going to question it.

Mike waited until Anders had left the room, and moved at least a short ways down the hall before scowling down at the receiver on his belt.

“Traitor.” The night guard murmured. Houston waved his hand through the cup irritably, and didn’t even ripple the water.

_“Shut up ’n drink ya wata’, Schmidt.”_


	28. Do No Harm

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Drabble feat. Mike, and a man he'd hoped never to see again.
> 
> Chad is a background character brought up on the RP blog during an M!A, and he's a dick.

Mike peered cautiously around the edge of the doorway, and swallowed thickly. The man he was looking for was still there, reading something off his pager with the self-satisfied smirk that seemed to be a permanent fixture on his face. The guard retreated back into the employee lounge, and took a deep breath or four to calm his nerves.

He could do this, easy. He just had to…talk to the guy. Yeah. Get his message across and leave. No need for drama, chit-chat, o-or any catching up. Just….just say his piece, and leave.

It should have been a piece of cake.

…….

It still felt eerily akin to walking into a lion’s den when Mike stepped out of the room and turned down the hallway. He meant to speak first; get the man’s attention, and start off in control of the conversation. But his voice failed him, and before he could regroup, the sound of his footsteps caught the man’s attention, and he deigned to look up.

“…well, look what the cat dragged in. Michael!” His voice was cheery and light, matching the smile that parted his lips, and showed off his brilliant white teeth, but it only sent a shiver down Mike’s spine. Had those teeth always looked so…sharp? “Fancy seeing you here!” Chad pushed off the wall and strode forward, and the guard nearly took a step back. He managed to hold his ground, and simply stop. “What’s it been, two? Three years?”

“Uh, th-three.” Mike swallowed. He could do this. He could do this. It would be easy. “Chad, l-…listen. Um. We, we need to talk-“

“Oh, I know. We simply must catch up!” Mike stiffened as Chad wrapped an arm around his shoulders and squeezed, as if they were good friends meeting after years apart. “I suppose you’re working right now,” The words practically oozed scorn and distaste, polished to a shine by a silver tongue. “But maybe we can get together later tonight? When do you get off? I just met this lovely young thing who might like to join-“

“That’s what we need to talk about.” It felt like it took all his courage just to pull from that one-armed hug, and Mike stared hard at a point somewhere just below Chad’s chiseled cheekbones to avoid eye contact. “I. I know you were chatting her up. Gave her your number….probably got hers, too.” Chad started to grin again.

“Oh, dear…” Chad chuckled. “Michael, don’t tell me you’re jealous?” Mike felt something hot twist in his gut. Anger? Yeah, that felt right. Unfortunately, this heat still spread to his face in a traitorous impression of a blush, and Chad’s widening smug smile only made him feel worse. “I told you that you’d miss me…” The taller man leaned in, and even though he had the open hallway at his back, Mike felt caged in his shadow.

“Ch-Chad.” The guard’s hand shook as it pressed against the soft fibers of a green cardigan. Chad was too close but he couldn’t push him away like he so desperately wanted. Not in public like this. “I’m serious.” His skin felt like it was burning as he matched the stare of his former lover eye to eye, but looking away just didn’t occur to him. “She’s sixteen. Leave her alone.” Chad’s dark gaze didn’t even waver, and Mike felt very small.

“Oh. Is she?” The man didn’t even have the tact to sound surprised. “Well, thanks for the heads up, Mikey. That could have been utterly disastrous.” He moved forward, and Mike jumped when he felt something solid and unmovable stop his retreat. When had Chad backed him against the wall?! “But I’m serious, too. We should catch up…” He leaned his head down, until his breath ghosted the shorter man’s neck.

“And you know I don’t mean just talking about the weather~” Chad purred. He leaned back, and patted Mike’s shoulder, once more back to the picture of a man happy to see an old friend. “You can get my number from your sister.” He told the guard as he walked away, straightening the cuffs of his shirt sleeve. Mike felt his stomach lurch. “I’ll be waiting for your call, Michael. Auf Wiedersehen…~”

“……” To his credit, Mike managed to get all the way back to the employee lounge before his shaking legs collapsed, and he sat down hard on the floor just shy of the couch. His insides felt icy and weak, and he hunched over his lap, honestly worried he was about to throw up.

Oh god…Chad knew…the entire time, he’d-….he’d only been flirting with Sasha because he’d known Mike would see. Because he’d known Mike would confront him over hitting on his sixteen year old sister.

He’d played _right_ into Chad’s hands.


	29. NSFW: Out-of-Office Hours

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Making this collection earn it's 'Explicit' rating, one 5am misadventure at a time...
> 
> Written for an M!A in which Mike was only six inches tall for nearly eight days. Contains an abusive ship. Please read at your own risk.

“Why do I have to be naked for this…?” Mike asked nervously as he nonetheless finished taking off his shirt. A figure towering above him shifted, and a gigantic hand reached down to take the removed article, and set it aside.

“Because I need to examine you.” The figure replied. “And I can’t easily do that while you’re dressed - not at this size.” One finger extended, and prodded meaningfully at the button of Mike’s pants. The boy’s face flushed red, and Mike hesitantly unbuttoned his jeans, and began to wriggle them down his hips. “I need it all off to give you a full, proper examination.” The finger hooked the waistband of Mike’s boxers as he bent over, tugging off his socks, and with a startled squawk, Mike jerked forward. He landed on his knees, and glared up at the figure.

“Chad!” He hissed in pain and rubbed at his knees, his jeans still clinging around his ankles, and his boxers now down around his thighs. “That hurt!”

“Oh…I’m sorry.” Chad didn’t sound sorry in the slightest, but he reached down and patted his tiny patient on the back with a hand that could have completely engulfed him. “But enough wasting time. Let’s begin~” Mike shivered as gloved fingers pressed down on his back and shoulders, quickly bending him until his cheek was pressed into the cold surface of the metal tray he knelt on. His fingernails scraped against the stainless steel, as if the motion would hide the shaking in the limbs trapped between his legs.

He flinched when one large finger slid beneath his ass, and gently lifted it upward. He felt humiliated in this position, and it hurt his neck to have his head twisted to the side like it was, but he twisted it a little more, and strained to look up at the other person in the room.

“Ch-Chad.” Mike swallowed awkwardly and squirmed under the pressure of the fingers that still held his upper body down. He didn’t get very far, and only really succeeded in wiggling his ass a little. “I-I changed my mind. We don’t have to do this-.”

“Nonsense, Michael.” Chad’s voice gently chided from somewhere above him. Mike couldn’t quite see his face in the darkness of the mostly unlit room. “You’ve gone through a serious biological transformation. We have to make sure you’re…healthy.” The finger returned to his ass and encouraged it higher with a provocative little rub. Mike whimpered, but obediently arched his back, and raised his rear as high as he could. “Good boy~” Chad purred. He gave the tiny ass a single pat of praise before reaching over to another tray set up on the table, and selecting something. “Now, you may want to hold your breath…”

“…!” Mike sucked in a breath as something cold and metal was pressed against his anus, and tried to push himself up off the tray. But Chad’s pressure remained firm, and it was all he could do to wriggle his lower half. “N-no! No! I-I’m not doing this! Le-let me up!” Whatever that was felt impossibly huge between his ass cheeks already, and it wasn’t even inside of him yet! Chad merely laughed, and flattened his hand, muffling the shrunken man’s protest beneath his gloved fingers.

“This is for your own good, Michael.” The doctor stated as he lined up the instrument again. He penetrated the sphincter a centimeter or two, and paused to listen to Mike’s cry of alarm. An unsettling grin crossed Chad’s face, and he slid the rest of the thermometer wand in painfully slowly. He watched Mike’s toes curl and uncurl in discomfort, and drank in those panicked whimpers like ambrosia.

Ooh, he’d have to thank whomever handed him this opportunity on a (stainless steel) platter~

“There we go…that wasn’t so bad, was it?” Chad cooed rhetorically. Michael’s whimpers made it clear that, yes, it was so bad. But Chad didn’t really care. “Now, we’ll just leave that there for two minutes, and we’ll have your temperature.” His thumb rubbed down his little captive’s spine in a way that was almost soothing, and after a minute of listening to Mike whine and whimper from beneath his fingers, he withdrew one or two, and uncovered the man’s head. “I’m sorry. Did you say something, dear?”

“…..no.” Michael swallowed back a small sob. It felt like he was being impaled on the glass wand; like his anus was stretched past its limits, and would tear with the slightest movement. The thermometer that seemed so small in Chad’s hands felt like a log in his ass, and he wanted it out. But he was too afraid to challenge Chad when he was his normal size, and the sense of helplessness - of literally being pinned down ass-up by the man’s hand, with so _little_ effort - meant that Mike wouldn’t say a word.

“Good.” Chad made a show of waiting one more minute, and then took hold of the thermometer to pull it out again. He felt Mike brace beneath his hand, and then suddenly tense as the wand was tilted, and scraped against something through the intestinal wall. He gasped, thin and breathlessly, and Chad’s toothy grin turned predatory. “Oh, my~” The doctor purposefully stopped. “Did that feel good, Mikey?”

“…..” Mike’s face turned red with shame, and he started to shiver. Oh, god, he never should have done this. Chad pushed the thermometer back in a short ways, and poor Mike tensed as another jolt of pleasure shot down his spine. “Ch-Chad, please…” He tried to plead. “Not…n-not now…”

“Oh, but this is the perfect opportunity, don’t you see?” The man began to carefully slide the glass wand in and out of Michael’s ass, ever so slightly tilted, and listened hungrily to those orgasmic whimpers. “It’s been years since I’ve heard you make these noises. How can you expect me to pass this up?”

“Ch…Ch _aaa_ …~” Mike let out a tiny sob of ecstasy in spite of himself. Chad’s ‘teasing’ hurt - it hurt so much - but the sensation kept striking that one spot in all the right ways. He could already feel his cock bending up against his stomach in a traitorously honest reaction, and the pressure of the fingers on his back kept him from doing anything to hide it.

Mike squeezed his eyes shut, and prayed that this was just some fucked up dream.

Please… _please_ just be some _fucked up dream_ …

……….

Mike’s eyes shot open, and he sucked a panicked gasp through his teeth. He was lying on a soft, warm surface, with something warm pressed against his side. His ass hurt more than he could ever remember, and when he tried to move, he felt sticky. His heart started to race in his chest, and Mike curled his fingers into the sheets beneath him. Wh-where was he?!

Then he froze, and looked down at the arm slung limply over his stomach. It was…normal sized. Proportional. And familiar. Mike gingerly moved his hands to rest them on Paul’s arm, and let out a slow, shaky breath. The real memories of last night were coming back to him, now, and they had nothing to do with magic or Chad or horrible life choices (well, mostly). It…it had all been just a dream.

Oh.

Oh, thank _god_.

Michael quietly rolled over beneath his partner’s arm, and snuggled up against Paul’s chest, seeking reassurance that this was real, and not just another step to a layered nightmare. It wouldn’t have been the first time. He lay awake for the rest of the night, shivering intermittently, and only feigned sleep when morning came, and Paul began to stir.


	30. NSFW: College Fling

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *lays down on the floor* Once more, making this collection earn its 'Explicit' rating...
> 
> Graphic encounter of the sexual nature below, featuring Mike and an old college flame. Please read at your own risk.

_“This will be fun.”_ Mitzi had promised as she’d laid him back on the bed. She’d looped a thin, smooth rope around his wrists; passed it between his fingers in lovely criss-crosses, pressing his palms together and pulling the knots tight.

 _“You can trust me. I promise…”_ She’d assured the nervous teenager. _“I’ve done this hundreds of times before.”_ She’d whispered as she’d pulled his hands up, and tied them to the headboard behind him. Michael had believed her, and laid there passively (if nervously) as she’d as she’d passed the rope beneath his back, and tied an elegant, flat knot over his pelvis.

She gently lifted his legs, bent them, and tied his ankles to his thighs (a ‘frog tie’ she’d gleefully explained) to hold them in that bent, spread position. A nervous shudder crawled up the boy’s spine at this point. He had never felt this…exposed before. Never felt this helpless.

But he bit his tongue against his nerves. Mitzi had made this night so special for him so far, with dinner, the flowers, and all the attention she’d lavished on him…He owed it to her to ride this out.

…even if he wasn’t all that thrilled about the toy box she was rifling through.

He watched Mitzi straighten up - her curves rolling like waves in her lacy blue lingerie - and saunter back to the bed, holding something long and black in her hands. At least part of it, he recognized as a dildo, and Mike relaxed a little bit. He’d used those before. But there was some cord attached to the bottom of it, with an odd bulge at the end. He hadn’t seen that before. Was that a remote? Was this a vibrator?

Mitzi set the toy down on the bed behind his legs, and Mike wasn’t able to see it from his angle. The woman crawled onto the bed and over the teenager, sensually laying down along his length, and folding her arms across his chest. Mike huffed out a small breath at her weight, but didn’t protest. He was having trouble thinking of words as Mitzi pointedly ground her hips against his groin.

“I’ve got a special surprise for you tonight, Michael~” She purred, leaning in to bite his lower lip. “I’m gonna do aaaall the work for once, and you get to just lie back and enjoy~” She pulled away, and Mike felt his heart flutter. He wasn’t sure if it was out of excitement or fear. Perhaps it was even a bit of both. The woman reached a hand down into her cleavage, making sure the teenager was watching (and boy was he!) before she drew something out of hiding, and held it up to his lips.

“Bit down on this, sweetie.” She ordered, pressing the warm, rope-wrapped cylinder between Michael’s parted teeth, and expertly tying its loose ends behind his head. “We don’t want you biting your tongue in all the excitement, now would we?” The boy’s expression turned nervous, but Mitzi either didn’t notice or didn’t care as she leaned back and slid off the bed, picking up an item from the nightstand before returning, and crawling over her partner once more.

The lube bottle popped open with a quiet ‘snap’ that made Michael flinch, and Mitzi squeezed out a liberal amount onto her fingers. She rolled the slippery substance over her fingers before sitting back on her heels, and dragging her fingers along Mike’s dick from base to tip. The young man shuddered, and moaned, already standing at attention from anticipation. Mitzi laughed, and began to pump her hand.

“Ooh~, you’re all ready for the show, aren’t you?” She teased as she jerked him off. Michael made a noise around the rope gag that might have been words, and bucked his hips into her touch. Mitzi paused, balancing her fingers on the head of his cock, and then slowly tracing them down the underside to the base. Her prey whimpered and squirmed, begging her to speed up, but she just trailed lower, and lower, until her fingers probed at his entrance.

Mike’s breath hitched in his throat as Mitzi slid one finger into his ass, and then two, twirling them around and spreading the lube wherever she touched. A third finger joined the others, and Mike whined. Wasn’t that moving a little too fast? Geez…if that dildo was the surprise, Mitzi was super eager to get him prepped for it….

As if on cue, the woman decided he’d been prepped enough, and slid her fingers out of his ass. Leaving Mike to catch his breath, for a moment, she squirted a little more lube onto her fingers, and began spreading the stuff over the surface of the odd dildo she’d picked out. She lined its head up against Mike’s anus, and slowly began to push it in. Mike bit down hard on the gag, and forced himself to relax. Relax, and it wouldn’t hurt.

….as much.

He felt the rubber balls of the dildo come to rest against his ass cheeks, and sucked in a strained breath. The shaft filling his ass felt too large already, and Mike made a small sound of discomfort around the gag in his mouth. It earned him a patronizing pat on the cheek from a wet, slightly slimy hand. The teenager made a face at Mitzi as she climbed over his bound legs. He mumbled something, but wasn’t able to form words around the gag, and Mitzi just smiled at him, and shimmied out of her panties.

Taking his firm cock in her dry hand, she guided its head to her lips, and eased herself down onto it. Mike closed his eyes and growled around the ropes, trying again to form the safe word, and failing. He couldn’t enjoy the warm, pleasurable feeling when it was tinged with pain, and he tried to speak the safe word. Last week, it had been ‘artichoke’, and the week before that ‘Cadillac’. This week, it was supposed to be ‘mushroom’…

…but the gag in his mouth prevented his tongue from forming the right shapes. He couldn’t pronounce the ‘sh’, or the ‘m’, and his attempts were only distorted and vague. The teenager looked up at Mitzi pleadingly, hoping she would understand from the context. This wasn’t comfortable. He wanted to stop. Mitzi smiled, but seemed to take a different meaning from his look, and picked up the bulge at the end of the dildo’s cord.

Suddenly, the shaft in his ass felt bigger, and Michael’s eyes teared up in pain. He whimpered as he felt his anus stretch to accommodate, and arched his back in an instinctive attempt to get away from the uncomfortable feeling. He watched Mitzi bite her lip, staring down at him lustfully as she released the pressure, and the dildo shrank back to its original size. Mike breathed a sigh of relief, and nearly choked on it when Mitzi pumped the device again, and inflated the dildo once more.

He made another noise of distress, this time louder, and this time, Mitzi ignored it entirely.

She fell into a rhythm of pump and release, forcing Mike to either breathe in time, or choke on overwhelming waves of pain and discomfort. Her free hand steadied herself against Mike’s bound legs as she rocked herself up and down, eyes closed in ecstasy. Each new pump of the dildo shot pain up his spine, and Mike pulled his knees up to his chest in an attempt to alleviate the pressure. It didn’t work, and he squeezed his eyes shut.

Ride it out, ride it out, just ride it out…

……….

Mitzi slowly began pumping the dildo less and less, until she finally stopped entirely, and raised herself off of Mike’s cock with a wet ‘pop’. Michael watched her through teary eyes, and sucked in a breath through his nose as she moved behind him, and slowly drew the dildo out. He let out a tiny sob of relief around the gag, even though it still felt like his ass was filled, and closed his eyes.

Mitzi never traded toys in the middle of a romp. If she was done with this one, then she was done, period.

The woman cleaned herself up and pulled her own panties on before moving back to the bed, and sitting beside her partner. She untied the ropes on his legs first, easing each one down to lie straight, and stretch out the stiff limbs, before reaching for the gag, and gently twisting it out from between Mike’s tense jaws. She set the gag on the night stand, and picked up a washcloth that - with one hand - she wiped across his lubed up cheek.

“How was that, baby?” Mitzi crooned. “Was that good? You loved that, didn’t you?”

“….” Michael forced a smile to his lips, and nodded. If she was going to put words in his mouth tonight, then he wasn’t going to stop her. He barely had the energy left to wiggle, let alone argue. Plus, his hands were still tied to the headboard. He didn’t want to start a fight before he was able to run away. “Y-yeah…it was great…” He mumbled lamely. Mitzi didn’t seem to hear the lie in his voice, and chuckled smugly to herself as she began to untie her partner’s hands.

“I know I am, but thank you~” She purred. Mike shook off the ropes once they were loose enough, and let his tingling arms drop to the mattress at his sides. Mitzi shifted to lay down beside him, and tossed a leg over his pelvis. Mike didn’t have the energy to push her away. “Let’s rest for a bit, and then we’ll get you cleaned up, alright?” The woman purred, dragging her (thankfully dry) nails through his short, dark hair. Michael muttered something affirmative, and let his eyes close.

He had to tell Mitzi that he couldn’t do this again. He felt horrible just for thinking it - for how sweet she was and how much she put up with, from him. But he just…he just couldn’t do this again.

She’d heard him try to say the safe word. Several times. And she’d ignored him. That…wasn’t respectful. That wasn’t safe.

Mike felt Mitzi’s fingers trailing through his hair, and shuddered. He was dirty and sticky and sweaty, and his ass was throbbing with his heartbeat, but he let exhaustion drag him to sleep with a relieved little sigh. He needed sleep…then he could try to deal with this.

_S l e e p f i r s t…._


End file.
